Crossroads
by clarett
Summary: Life’s a multitude of forked roads, will there come a day when we meet, again? many pairings, but eventual jate.please read from the start because i shifted chapters around, sorry.
1. Chapter 1: the first memory?

_Th__is lends a lot on coincidences and chances (which I think lost doesn't really develop on so far) so I'm sorry If you think the events are too coincidental to be true. Disclaimer that I didn't create lost, and this entire thing is completely fiction, and any likeness to real people are just well, coincidences. My English Is far from perfect, especially the grammar, so I'd love It If you could comment on that. Hope you enjoy nonetheless. _

_(note to readers who had read the first chapters I put up a while ago: I re-did the entire thing, so I'm sorry you have to start all over, but the chapters do end up somewhere In the story.)_

01 the first memory?

The setting sun cast a warm pink hue to the otherwise pale grey sky of a Venetian autumn. It was the least of Rosa's worries, though, as she cautiously watched the woman beside her. She was swathed in layers of cloth fashioned into a patch-dress of queer colours.

She had been motionless for the past few minutes; so had Rosa. Her eyes were fixed straight, looking at the steady stream of humanity walking past the cobbled pavement, instead of slanting sideways like Rosa. Rosa found herself fidgeting inadvertently; there was some hatred mixed with fear in small degrees in her. She was completely not at ease with her, but decided to follow suit, frowning.

It proved to be not as dry as she had thought, as she was easily entertained by the people in front of her. Their gait, their clothing and sometimes their speech—it cracked a hint of their respective personalities. She hid a small smile, and thought how easily everyone wore their hearts on their sleeves.

The smile diminished a moment later, though. _Wearing your heart on your sleeve_, Rosa chanted silently in her mind. It's English, an English proverb which has no sense in Italian. Stifling a sigh, Rosa tried to convert her thoughts into the crude Italian she could manage from the intensive drilling from the woman beside her.

Slowly, her train of thought was carried away by the ebb and flow of the people. Suddenly, a short blonde head entered her peripheral vision and Rosa turned to face that direction. She was about her height and age, Rosa decided. Her eyes were clear grey-blue like a summer sky, very much unlike Rosa's blue-green. The light azure of the irises complimented the blonde locks, cut in a long bob which brushed her shoulders, a stark contrast to Rosa's cobalt and chocolate brown combination.

She had her eyes fixed at Rosa already and their eyes locked for a long moment, considering each other. The blonde girl broke the gaze first; Rosa quelled another sigh. It was rather obvious that Rosa was very much incapable of stealing anything from her (unlike the woman beside her) but the mere proximity from her made Rosa seem like her, too.

_I'm not a gypsy_, Rosa wanted to get up and speak. _I want to roam Venice with you_. Her chances of communication came back a moment later, when the girl finally looked back. She had walked past Rosa already, and so she had to crane her neck backwards. In a split second, Rosa forced out everything she wanted to say through her eyes, but it didn't work.

So much for telepathy, Rosa wanted to scoff, as she looked helplessly at the blonde girl turning her head to face the end of the Venetian street, the constant flow of people making her bob away from Rosa. Once again, Rosa rolled her eyes to her side to face that woman, taking in her curious mixture of smells, deriding herself once more for thinking in English.

_Review? Thanks!_


	2. Chapter 2: just by coincidence?

02 just by coincidence?

"You've got to start doing productive work now," she started abruptly, her voice devoid of emotions. They had just finished dinner in the form of lentils and since there wasn't any betting going on that night, the woman was at home.

"What do I have to do?" Rosa asked slowly and cautiously in the rudimentary Italian she knew, unable to anticipate her next move.

"Work," she repeated flatly, as if Rosa was stupid not to know what it meant. "Earning money."

Although Rosa had a bad feeling about her next question, she had to know what she was expected of. So, very slowly and softly, she asked, trying hard to hide the tremble in her voice, "What sort of work?"

"Just go out," she replied, a shrillness creeping into her voice. Then, her face slowly grew ruddy and she started screaming, "and earn some freaking money!"

Despite the fact that her question lay unanswered, she scampered away as quickly as she could manage with a string of Italian words she couldn't comprehend ringing in her ears. Every lingering sentiment of the harmless question had been chased away as well, but Rosa's mind pounded with a deadly concoction of fear and uncertainty. She took the woman's words as vulgarities and shoved everything away from memory, running towards the foot of a small alley.

Leaning against the wall trying to catch her breath, she closed her eyes and willed her fists to stop trembling. Her fingers were still quaking when she finally opened her eyes, but at least the even breath placated her rioting emotions like a sedative. She racked her brain for an idea to earn money, but none was bestowed to her; she was simply too young. She thought of the days when she was still trying to grasp Italian; her daylights were spent sitting by the streets and depending on donations.

Rosa winced; it might be one way but she resolved never to step into her footsteps. _There has to be another way, _she decided resolvedly.

Finally, a ruse materialised in her mind and set her head spinning. She frowned; it was no better than begging, in fact it was far worse. Rosa suddenly winced at the choice when she had finally gotten one, and decided to honour uniqueness.

She was still high strung from the domestic outburst, and the fact that she was alone, letting the crowd jostle her, only made it worse on her nerves. The same things greeted her when she spent her days beside the woman—the tap expensive leather shoes made on the cobble, the nondescript chatter between poker-faced adults blended with the slush of canal water. Her heart raced once more and she took deep breaths and slowed down her pace.

Rosa didn't know whether it was fate, but she was certain it didn't happen by accident. The girl she looked on the streets a few weeks ago lay fresh on her mind, and right in front of her eyes was a girl who looked like her. While it wasn't exact—her blonde locks curled and cascaded down her back instead of that bob—she was blonde and had blue eyes nonetheless. Rooted still to the ground, every plan she hatched was thrown into the borders of her mind as Rosa thought of a way to approach her.

She was seated by the bench, and by instinct, Rosa settled down on the empty seat beside her. She immediately pivoted her head towards Rosa, and the latter seized the time to face her blue eyes. Rosa smiled, and she looked as the girl slowly broke into a shy grin herself. _"__Bongiorno__,"_ Rosa started, trying to push something forward.

The girl's smile widened a little and returned the greeting. "I'm Claire," she introduced rather bashfully.

"Rosa," she supplied and stretched out a hand. Claire took it, and Rosa thought that it must've been her imagination playing tricks, because she thought it lasted longer than the usual.

-----

"James," Charlie called when he entered their room and closed the door behind him. His voice was his trademark begging tone, and James anticipated what was to come—he knew all too well; Charlie only begged for one thing. Thus, not to his surprise, Charlie continued, "I've got another errand."

"Don't you realise you have to stand on your own one day?" James asked without looking up from his model airplane, not bothering at all to hide the irritation in his voice. "Nicking stuff is an art which you need practice in."

"Please, just this one last time. You know how I hate it, and how you like it, yes?" Charlie didn't blame him; it was his work, but since James liked it so much he didn't see any harm in it. Not wanting to do it, he tried hard to beg again, offering, "I can help finish the model."

"Oh alright," James said wearily, handing his PVA glue over to Charlie. "This last time."

"I promise." James stared at his half-brother for a long while, an eyebrow raised as he considered him. Charlie immediately sat down, a grin evident on his face, as he glued the stray parts together. Without saying another word, James left in cold agitation.

When he was out of the large mansion, his agitation died down into a weak ebb, and in retrospect James couldn't actually hate Charlie. True, sometimes it was irritating for Sawyer to have everything deferred onto his platter of jobs, but there was an undeniable truth that he enjoyed every single moment of it, and Charlie didn't. Besides, Charlie was better in assembling the model planes, and he could sell them for a much higher price.

There was nothing at stake—James didn't care if Charlie couldn't fork enough to present to their father—and so James leaned against a banister by the cannel, people-watching. He noticed a girl his age, and took in what she had been doing for the past fifteen minutes— loitering around the piazza. Her gait was casual, but her eyes gave it away; she was searching for something.

It didn't cross his mind that the blue-green eyes weren't consistent to the Italian coffee brown, but all that mattered was the hunch that she was one of them, the gypsies. He never knew why people scorned on them; it was just another way of earning money. James' heart raced as he wondered if she was doing it, too. When he turned his attention to a conspicuous tourist, she set her sights on the same person as well.

James concealed a grin as she snuck up silently behind the tourist who was preoccupied with her map; he was right. With a casual swipe of her hand, she nicked the tourist's wallet from her jeans pocket. Hastily, she diverted her route and filtered towards the corner of the piazza, towards him.

Smiling now, James approached her with a small swagger in his steps. _"Bongiorno,"_ he started, but if anything the girl merely raised an eyebrow incredulously. He thought her eyes flashed with fear for a moment there, but he couldn't be sure, as after that didn't crack a shard of emotion. Sawyer anticipated the reaction, and continued, "I saw it."

"So?" She questioned back coolly in accented Italian. "What are you going to do about it? Go chase after her?"

James shook his head, smiling at the twist he was about to bestow on her. "I want a business partner. I'm in this business too."

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	3. Chapter 3: is it real?

_Just a note, if you've read the chapters I posted before I'm sorry but please re-read them. I shuffled the chapters around, I'm sorry. _

03 is it real?

Leaning against the banisters by the canal, Rosa and James took in the morning Venetian scene—gondoliers paddling down canals to satisfy overly-enthusiastic tourists, who were cooing intermittently as if Venice were Mars. Nearby, more affluent tourists in haute couture chatted in cafés, occasionally cracking a smile as they stirred at their coffee. Children were a rare sight in Venice, but none of the people seemed to take note of them—they walked briskly as if rushing to a destination with as much composure as possible.

"Freckles," he started randomly. "I will call you Freckles."

"Why?" she winced, out of both his randomness and the weird moniker.

"Because you've got freckles all over your nose," he replied frankly.

"Then I'll call you…" Rosa trailed off from exasperation, racking her brain for a nickname apt enough for James. "Sawyer," she finally completed at last, wiping off the smug grin on James' face. It was her turn to smile smugly; it was just like the word game James played to improve her Italian, and she had the upper-hand advantage—they had to exchange words, and he was racking his brain to think of one rebuttal.

"Why?" he treaded on her words previously, a wince on his face not unlike Rosa's.

"You're like Tom Sawyer," she answered simply. "Adventurous and all."

"Aren't you a Sawyer yourself?"

Rosa shook her head, trying to quell a smile at his expression—exasperation and incomprehension in an exotic mix. She couldn't restrain and broke into a lopsided grin as she replied, "I'm not a boy, that's why."

He shook his head incredulously and they lapsed into silence, taking in the unflattering _oohs _and _aahs _of the tourists that mingled with the ebb and flow of humanity.

"I hate her," Rosa lamented as suddenly as Sawyer had as they started walking down the pavement. "She took me away from my family."

James tried to suppress a smile. "How can she? I mean you've been here all your life."

"I can't speak Italian properly, and somehow I can pick up random words when tourist speaks. Like you said, I've got freckles, and it's not a common sight here," Rosa reasoned, eyebrows knitted and absorbed in thought. Slowly and shakily, she conjectured, "It's like…I wasn't born here."

"That's just because you're smart to be perceptive to languages," James concluded. "I mean you're not like me."

"How so?" Rosa challenged.

Very lightly, James replied, "My dad tells me point-blank I'm not his real son."

"I wish she tells me that," Rosa said darkly. "I'm not her at all, and I don't want to be her."

"You aren't," James consoled simply as he took her hand and they strolled, half-skipping, down the pavement. Eager to divert the topic, he scanned for an unwitting face, and then asked, "How about that tourist guy?"

Rosa grinned. "I could do with more money."

-----

From outside, a loud jumble of voices could be heard. Rosa pursed her lips; it was their gambling night again and this time it was at her house. Trying to look as unfazed as possible, she slowly opened the creaky wooden door which was brittle at the sides due to termites gnawing at it. She took a brief glance at the small crowd huddled around a small table, a lone bulb illuminating the room. Nobody seemed to notice her, and she heaved an inward sigh of relief; if they did the men would bother her to no end. Creeping to the right, she crept into the room and placed the money on the tabletop, held down by a tray of spices. Beside the bed, she pulled open the trapdoor and slid down.

Switching on the lights, she counted four tiles down, then eight left and pulled out a loose floorboard. She darted her head to the tiny door above suddenly, and then bit her lip at her being overtly alarmed. The chattering was still there.

Gingerly, she pulled out a small cookie tin and shoved her ten lira and a few two lira notes inside. Thinking about the events of the morning, she fished out her picture book of _Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn _out from the bottom of the small space. Sweeping away the thin layer of dust that had gathered on the cover of the book, she took in the caricature of the plucky Tom Sawyer for the first time and felt contented about her new nickname for James. Taking in a deep breath, she pulled out a fragile forget-me-not sandwiched between pages fourteen and fifteen. The colour had faded into the dried ochre, and Rosa couldn't help think that those were stuff belonging to the life that she had once lived—the life the woman stole from her.

All day, the dream came to her and kept gnawing for her attention. She almost wanted to tell Sawyer about it, but somehow, something withheld her from doing it.

_It's a stupid dream, _she tried to reason. _It's just you hate her so, and don't want to be like her is all._

However hard Rosa tried to persuade her to drop the thought, she couldn't. The dream was so vivid; it was as if she knew the roads and streets in there, and it wasn't Venice at all. There were proper roads with cars zooming past, and she could picture everything as if she had moulded the entire town herself. The woman had never brought her out of the murky canals and Rosa thought that it wasn't possible that she knew so much about a place she hadn't seen before.

There was also the meadow not far away. The skyscrapers didn't leave the picture entirely, but there was a grass patch adorned with flowers and trees. There were people talking amongst themselves, but it was there that things started getting blurry. She was among the group and wasn't called Rosa, definitely, but she couldn't recall what. They were definitely not conversing in Italian, but she could recognise what they were talking about.

Rosa winced and switched the light off. She walked to her mattress and cocooned herself with the thin loincloth folded on one side. Falling onto her flattened pillow, she shook her head in irritation and shut her eyes, chasing away the thoughts and willing herself to be induced to sleep. It was like another hint pulling at her brain, telling her that she wasn't supposed to be here at all. Despite the irritation and begrudging curiosity, she crossed her fingers and hoped that she would have a different dream this night.

-----

The moment the attendant opened the doors for him, Sawyer—he would never confess, but he liked the name Rosa bestowed upon him—stepped in and bounded up the stairs, greeting his mother on the way. By the door of the study, Sawyer hesitated a moment, as if what lay inside were sacred treasures.

He shook his head, dispelling the weird emotions which had gathered in his mind. Knocking the door, he asked furtively, "Dad? It's me, Sawyer."

"Come in," came an amiable voice from inside.

"Here's what Charlie and I got today," Sawyer tried, as confidently as possible, as he approached the man's study table. As he placed a thin wad of notes on the rich mahogany tabletop, the man smiled in response.

"You're great," he started. Then, his expression shifted, though the smile, a genuine one, remained. "How did you get that name Sawyer?"

In halting Italian, James told him, for the first time, of Rosa and their exploits and how he became Sawyer. He looked eagerly as the man chuckled and ruffled his hair.

"Go and rest now, Little Sawyer," he managed, and Sawyer had to control not to skip out of the study and into his room. Although it had been made clear right from the start that he had come from the orphanage, the most important thing was the attention and love bestowed, and Sawyer decided that whatever happened, he would follow in his foster father's footsteps.

-----

Lying in bed facing the window, Sawyer looked out of the window and wondered what Rosa was doing. _Sleeping, perhaps_, he offered, as the events of the morning surged into his mind's eye. It was the first time she was vaguely resenting—she was not like any other girl, she seldom complained and that was partly why Sawyer stuck so much with her. It must be some trial Rosa had, he decided, as he turned away from the window to the room, and while doing so he faced Charlie.

His eyes were open, and Sawyer pursed his lips. "Do you sleep like that?" he whispered into the shadows, annoyance rising in his voice. "Like a fish, eyes open?"

Charlie shook his head, replying, "I just wanted to make sure you were awake."

"Yeah?" Sawyer questioned irritably. "I as hell am."

Charlie seemed stung by the acid voice Sawyer put up for he paused for a moment, as if smarting from a mental wound Sawyer inflicted. Slowly, he started, saying, "Well, just to let you know." He paused, as if to collect more calm, and then continued, "I got your plane up and painted."

"I can see," Sawyer replied coolly. He was never going to say his thanks; after all Charlie's thanks were just for the moment, if he ever uttered them. Nevertheless though, Sawyer waited until his half brother was asleep, complete with the low occasional grumbles, crept out of bed, and admired his painting. It was meticulous and neat, and Charlie had painted Sawyer's name in green—his favourite colour—and added the number forty-two—another favourite—on it. He held the plane up, and a note was under it. With the other hand, he picked it up and read, _'Thanks pal' _with a smiley face attached in Charlie's usual scrawl. Sawyer put them back on his table and walked back to bed.

Once again, he whispered into the shadows, but this time all his anger was removed. "Thanks," he whispered, curling back into his warm bed.


	4. Chapter 4: polar opposites

04 polar opposites?

Sitting on the bench by St Mark's Square, Rosa sat with Claire as they licked on their ice-lollies—a lemon sorbet and a strawberry respectively. Rosa felt uneasy by the increasing silence falling between them; there was absolutely nothing Rosa could think of to puncture the lack of conversation between them.

Shaking her head, Rosa forced herself back to reality with Claire. She was bubbly and sweet, and Rosa groaned inwardly when she realised how different it was with if she spoke with Sawyer. He just thought on the same wavelength; though he dismissed her thoughts that she didn't belong, at least he understood that broken family wasn't an oxymoron.

Almost instinctively, her thoughts swayed to the time when it all started, when she was lonely and wanted to be like the blonde girl. She had already grown accustomed to the life she was moulded to live in, and she wondered if her initial fervent wishes to turn around from that life caused this sinking friendship.

Suddenly, Claire stuck out her lolly. Shifting her concentration, Rosa looked as Claire offered her red ice-lolly to a pigeon nearby. Rosa suppressed the roll of her eyes, and decided to tolerate Claire's dreaminess. Venice's touristy aspect fit her—a hardcore romantic who indulged in fantasy—but it was Venice's cooler bit that Rosa fit into—an isolated place where people flock to visit but wasn't home.

Looking at Claire and her golden locks, Rosa decided to think of the times when she skipped down the pavements with Claire, their fingers interlocking as they smiled widely. She was still stuck in the stage of being blissfully ignorant, and Rosa thought for a moment if the optimism then was a far better deal than the quiet demeanour of present.

"I've gotta run," Rosa said finally after licking the last bits of her sorbet.

"Where to?" Claire asked. Rosa felt a dull punch inside her; she knew Claire didn't mean to be insensitive, but she was completely hoodwinked from Rosa's life completely.

"Running errands," Rosa lied simply as she left Claire sitting at the bench, finishing her pink lolly. Rosa burrowed into the thin crowd and filtered into another piazza. Positioning herself in a discrete point, her head darted swiftly, closely observing the passers-by without seeming to be a busybody. Age was catching up on her, and she just couldn't use curiosity that came together with childhood innocence as an alibi to what she had been doing all along.

-----

A dog's howl attracted Shannon's attention. It was not an agitated bark, but a long, and somewhat helpless, howl. She turned her head around, but she couldn't see the source. At the crossroad of the junction of a street, though, she finally caught sight of a dog with beige fur scampering around, its head tilted upwards to look at the rush of people.

Her eyes must have been fixed at the dog for a long while, for her mother said, "Don't bother the dog; it'll only attack you."

"Yeah," her brother—no, half-brother—Boone replied. Shannon couldn't help roll her eyes. He was a stupid person who only knew how to stick to a mother not his flesh and blood. "The dog probably has rabies."

How are you to know, Shannon challenged silently. She managed to tear her gaze from the dog and entered a boutique which her mother was waxing lyrical about the night before in their seafront house. Shannon couldn't help sigh. Venice was such a quirky place—first, the little girl by the street (which her mother told her not to stare at, and Boone followed with calling her 'gypsy girl') and then the dog—but none of them were interested; they thought it as hindrance over the high couture they pursued.

Stealing a glance at her mother, her half-brother, her half-father, and then herself, Shannon looked at the designer clothes they were clad in and wondered if it was simpler for all of them if she just conformed to their mindsets.

-----

"A lost dog," Rosa noted as she trouped down the street with Sawyer, gesturing at a small ginger ball not too far away.

They paused in the middle of the crossroad and waited to catch the attention of the dog. It was scampering frantically, weaving through the rush of people. Its head was cocked up, staring at each head as if trying to find its owner. However, soon enough, the cream-coloured canine noticed attention being paid to it, albeit by two little kids, and tottered towards their direction.

"Hey little one," Sawyer started as he looked at the dog, which was looking up at him, with soft brown eyes which seemed to implore beseechingly into his blue ones. The wagging tail and outstretched tongue just completed the picture as it squatted by his foot obediently.

"He's very thin," Rosa said, obviously swayed by it. "What do dogs eat?"

"I don't know," James replied, frowning. "Bread? I have some here."

They looked on as Sawyer broke off a piece to offer to the dog, which ate voraciously.

"It has a collar," Rosa noted for the third time. Picking it up, she read the word engraved on the small silver plate. "Sawyer, that's all it says. There's no address."

"Finders keepers," James replied. "I shall persuade my dad to keep it."

Somewhere in her heart, something was triggered and she fought down an unexplainable urge to tell Sawyer otherwise, that they should ask around instead. She squatted down and rubbed at the dog's ears. It walked closer to her and she picked it up in her arms.

Cradling it like a baby, she followed Sawyer's footsteps to his house, relishing the warmth the dog was radiating from its slightly matted coat. It was a short walk, and she soon found herself stepping into the belt of exquisite housing for Venice's small number of residents.

It was the first time Rosa entered Sawyer's house. They mentioned their parents, or rather their adopted ones, but they never thought of inviting each other over. Standing by a polished wooden door with a shiny golden knocker, she fought down the urge to squirm. The dog seemed to feel it, and whimpered softly in her arms. She braced a smile as she hugged it closer.

She took off her sandals and stepped into the threshold of the Pace's residence cautiously. She was afraid, though she didn't know why, and decided she was just fearful of the uncertainty of the situation. Sawyer was speaking in rapid Italian to a woman dressed in white. She had observed Rosa up and down and wore a frown on her face, but she eventually let Rosa and the dog in with her lips pursed disapprovingly. Sawyer gestured for her to step in first, and her heart sank. Thankful for the dog in her arms, she cautiously stepped onto the gleaming black marble of the house, her heart palpitating harder from the roadblock previously.

Sawyer motioned for her to follow, which Rosa gladly did. She didn't want to leave the sight of Sawyer for fear of not knowing what to do when left to her own devices. She tried to curse herself for her sudden lack of courage in a bid to squeeze some out, but to no avail. Her heart was still thumping hard and fast as they scaled up the stairs.

It was a big house in Venetian standards, and Sawyer stopped in front of a richly polished wooden door, rapping on the metal knocker. "Daddy?" he asked furtively.

"Come in!" a voice greeted. It was rather warm, but the dog was still clutched tightly in hand as Rosa entered the room with Sawyer ushering her.

"Dad?" Sawyer repeated, as if uncertainty was contagious and Rosa passed it to him. In the shyest tone Rosa ever heard Sawyer use, he continued, "This is Rosa."

The man turned around and smiled as Rosa bowed with her head furtively. "Ah, so you're the famous Rosa Sawyer talks about," he remarked, the smile lingering, and for the first time, Rosa's grip on the dog was loosened. She glanced sideways at Sawyer to see his cheeks pinking a little—a rare sight.

"We found this dog on the streets," Sawyer started, a little waver in his voice—another first for Sawyer. He paused and took in a whiff of fresh air before he continued, "So could we keep it?"

"It isn't as easy as you think," he replied. He wasn't as disapproving as the woman by the door, but his brows were furrowed. "You've got to feed him everyday and walk him, among others. Are you game?"

Sawyer nodded his head vigorously and the man agreed. Sawyer turned to Rosa and smiled a toothy smile.

Sawyer motioned for Rosa to follow out and to his room. When he opened the door, his face fell for a moment when he saw someone already there. He was a head taller than Sawyer and his hair was much shorter. He looked up from a model airplane he was trying to assemble and waved.

"This is Charlie," Sawyer introduced almost begrudgingly. Then, sotto voce, he muttered, "My half-brother." She could tell immediately that there was some ill-blood brewing between them. For one, she couldn't figure how someone who gave away smiles do easily like Charlie could live in the same room as a cool Sawyer. Rosa thought that Charlie could hear Sawyer's mutter and expected an argument of sorts, but the former chose to be silent. Instead, his attention fell on the dog. "Where did you get that?" he asked, enthralled.

"On the streets," Sawyer replied agitatedly, as if explaining to Charlie for the umpteenth time.

"Dad allowed?" he asked, eyes widening. From her days spent observing on the streets, Rosa knew the eyes cracked most of the emotions and unlike Sawyer, Charlie's were extremely emotive.

Sawyer rolled his eyes in response to Charlie's question. The latter nodded as he sat down with Rosa and Sawyer, forming a circle. Rosa felt Sawyer squirm but remained silent, observing the brothers. Sawyer was stroking the dog and staring at its cream-coloured fur, as if absorbed in serious thoughts, whilst Charlie wore a lopsided grin as he caught the attention of the dog and played peek-a-boo. Though they weren't blood related, they lived under the same roof but were stark opposites of each other.

"You like model airplanes?" Rosa asked, looking around the room.

"Yeah," came a unanimous voice between the two, but that was about all that was the same. Charlie was enthusiastic and grinning, whilst Sawyer almost grunted his answer. Rosa nodded, fiddling with her fingers and looking at the burgundy carpet they sat on.

"We've got to give it a name," Sawyer thought. Then, carrying it up into an awkward position, he continued, "Hey, he's a guy."

Rosa winced and almost wanted to chide Sawyer for his rough handling of the dog, but it was Charlie who ended up doing it. "Stop it," Charlie said, as if he was being hurt. "He doesn't like it."

"It's the only way," Sawyer answered flatly.

Rosa wanted to agree but decided it was no use to increase the tension in the room. "Vincent," she said at last. "Name it Vincent."

Charlie looked at her with an eyebrow raised in question, and Sawyer shrugged a 'whatever'. She looked out at the window to see the orange sky of sundown—a perfect excuse to make her exit.

When Rosa was about to leave, Charlie followed her down the stairs, insisting she'd be ushered out. Rosa wanted to hide a laugh—despite their differences between them, they were rather chauvinistic or gentlemanly, whichever way she chose to look at it.

"Do you do the same thing as Sawyer?" Rosa asked suddenly. "I mean the going out and, you know."

Charlie looked around almost frightfully. There was nobody nearby, and with a hushed tone, he replied, "I'm supposed to, but normally I defer it to him. That's why he hates me so."

"Why?" Rosa asked.

Charlie was perplexed. "It's like housework. Who wants a bigger share?"

Rosa shook her head. "I meant, why don't you like it?"

Charlie was turning slightly pink. His soft voice turned into a barely audible whisper as he muttered, "Who wants their money taken? It's not like we don't have enough."

His words reverberated in her head and when she waved goodbye, she looked Charlie in the eye. She rarely did that; she felt uncomfortable at the thought of someone reading into your feelings like how she did, though she knew only she bothered to stare into people.

She sun was setting and she dug into her pockets. _Crap, _she thought. _I've don't have enough._

Biting her lips, she scanned with urgency at the passers-by. She usually took it slow; she knew she would get caught if she wasn't prudent and it was the last thing she wanted. The sun was setting, and like an hourglass, it was pressing her to finish what she was brought out to do.

Closing down on a man in a suit, she looked at the bulge on the pocket of his pinstripe pants. She looked away constantly but subtly—somehow people could notice your stares if you concentrated; it was as if eyes had powers and were a being of their own. Taking one last look at the sun, inching lower into the sea not far away, she fished it out with a quick swipe.

Her hands were trembling, but she was sure the technique was there, and he couldn't feel it. She filtered away with steps as rapid as before and headed for the small lane housing old, packed houses in the fringes of Venice, the equivalent of a ghetto. Throughout the way home, Charlie's words chanted in her head and nagged at her. Biting her lip as she opened the ramshackle door to her house, she convinced herself that she needed the money, deciding to shrug away with the fact that she started off with a choice.

Charlie couldn't be certain, but he thought that Rosa's gaze was longer than usual as he bade her farewell. He liked Rosa, but he didn't think Sawyer would like it if Rosa became his friend as well. He shook his head and focused on the airplane he abandoned while playing with Vincent. Realising he ran out of glue, he stepped out of the house and into the piazza.

It wasn't too difficult to spot kids; there wasn't a proper school in Venice, and resident children always came from shady places. Charlie's heart sank at that thought, but was dispelled when he noticed Rosa walking in the distance ahead. He slowed down his pace to observe, and his heart sank and he looked at Rosa quickly but surely nicked a black wallet.

_Of course, _Charlie muttered, crestfallen, in his mind. _She was thinking that I was stupid not to earn quick money. _

He visited the little shop tucked comfortably in a small Venetian alley; it was his favourite enclave. It was unnaturally quiet, but Charlie liked it that way. The shopkeeper knew him as well as he knew all the model planes displayed on the shelves; Charlie simply loved the place.

With what had happened, though, the warm yellow light and the slight lack of ventilation made the place oppressive. He quickly made his purchase and left, cooking up an excuse to the shopkeeper that he had a model to complete was the reason why he didn't stop to look at the new models by the display window.


	5. Chapter 5: what if?

05 what if?

As Rosa walked away after waving goodbye, she couldn't stash a bitter smile at how easily the friendship was rescued. All it took was another harmless question by Claire. "Hey," she said. "Did you catch that new drama playing last night?"

Rosa was out the entire day, and the sitcom at night was the only thing she could watch on the second-hand television.

"I like Thomas," Claire declared, dreamy-eyed, as she looked up at the clear sky.

"You mean the actor," Rosa corrected, smiling. "It's true, yeah, he's swooning, but he's got such a boring character."

"But being a high-flying lawyer is what we dream of, yeah?" Claire asked, and then sighed, looking down at the ground this time as if descending from a beautiful daydream.

Rosa nodded as she looked blankly at the pigeons nearby. Little children were feeding—rich, tourist children. Local children were taught never to feed the pigeons for fear of putting their appetite (and consequently the food chain) into disarray. Claire's sentence reverberated softly in her head, and the little children brought her to think of the blonde girl Rosa met.

It was silly that she was still part of her conscious memory all these years, but somehow Rosa couldn't just forget her. She wondered, from time to time, whether Claire was like her; dreamy and carefree. When she was alone in her room at night, peering up at the stars in the sky, she pondered what life was like if Rosa became her—free of every little burden she had to bear with in Venice.

"Do you know where we can get a job?" Rosa asked suddenly.

Claire shrugged, her eyebrows knitted. "I've got no idea," she confessed. "There're lots of cafés around, why not try one?"

"You me both?" Rosa asked, suddenly feeling like a child.

"Yes," Claire replied, looking at Rosa with a smile on her face.

The ring-tone of Rosa's phone broke the warmth Rosa had never felt for a while. The call register read 'Sawyer' and she picked up the phone call. "Rosa," Sawyer greeted her on the phone. "Could you come over?"

Rosa frowned. Though the family had always welcomed her, she avoided visits best as she could. "Why?"

"Vincent," Sawyer started uneasily. "You know, he's old and all…"

"He's dead." Rosa said flatly, hoping it would conceal her flabbergast.

"Not exactly," Sawyer's voice was as shifty as before. "I thought you'd want to see him one last time."

Rosa nodded and dashed for Sawyer's mansion with her best efforts to hide her tears.

-----

Vincent lay unmoving on the dark red carpet in the room. Nothing much had changed in the room over the years—the passion for modelling aircrafts remained unchanged and littered the place. Vincent mustered a look at Rosa and whimpered, making her heart crack as she knelt down beside it, stroking the fur coat. It had been kept silky, but nothing much had changed—it was still warm. Letting a lone tear roll down her cheek, she gathered her calmest voice and said, "Vincent."

Another whimper was elicited as she felt his warmth rubbing against her right knee. It was not too difficult to remember the trepidation between Sawyer and her when they confronted his father; it was even easier to recall the firsts with him—the first time walking him, and even clearing up after him.

Sawyer and Charlie were seated around her in a circle, very much like that first time Vincent entered the room, tail wagging and looking around excitedly. The former two disappeared from the picture from their polite silence as Rosa was absorbed in her thoughts, letting another stray tear roll down her cheeks. She hated crying in front of people, but it was a special case, and she let a few more drops stain her visage.

Vincent whimpered once more, much softer this time, as if pleading her to stop crying. Bracing a smile, Rosa brought Vincent to her lap and nuzzled at his ears. "Thank you," she felt herself saying, though she didn't really know why.

It was only after the cremation and the scattering of his ashes over the sea that Rosa realised she was grateful he provided the chance for him not to regret being lost, for finding a life he enjoyed and passed away happily. As she let go of the last fragile piece of Vincent, she whispered a last 'thank you' to the wind, letting it toss around the sea, away from the bleak, foggy Venetian autumn.

_I'm sorry Vincent had to die within two chapters. It's kinda sudden and the dog story meant to be just a little anecdote. For Shannon in the previous chapter I'm sorry that she won't be in the picture for a while, too. But she'll finally come back. The characters are all the major ones in season 1 too, my bad for not saying earlier. _


	6. Chapter 6: changed?

06 changed?

Rosa woke up to the sound of things jostling each other as she rubbed her eyes. She didn't feel recharged; if anything she still felt sleepy. A glance at her bedside alarm clock read half past eight. It wasn't early and she didn't wind down too late, either. Sighing, she folded her thin loincloth-blanket and got to the bathroom.

_It must be the autumn, _she tried to fool herself into thinking that the worst season to be in Venice was the root of the problem. She knew though, that she was plainly trying to jade herself and the root of everything lay deep in her heart.

Rosa hated that feeling, yet it seemed to overwhelm her increasingly often these days. It bordered round despair and it hijacked her brain till it took control over her conscious thought. While it made her agitated on the outside, it left her rather alone deep down.

She knew it was the dream, but without her knowing it consumed her, and left her in such a miserable state. The countless questions that had unknowingly manifested itself in her heart suddenly nagged at her brain and she only sighed in response.

Looking into the mirror, Rosa caught sight of her curled dark brown hair lazing behind her back. Though it was the lush chocolate colour the Italians had, but she knew there was something that wasn't Italian about her. She couldn't curl her 'R's as perfectly as the rich sultry purr of the natives even though she had spoken Italian her entire life. The turquoise of her eyes, too, wasn't characteristic of Venetians. She pursed her lips, shoving away those thoughts, together with the little forget-me-not.

Brushing her teeth, that dream came back to her again. The dream had been hounding her more than ever, and when she wasn't concentrating on the present, her mind would always focus on that dream. Rosa thought it was ridiculous, but it felt too real; there wasn't a patchy bit she couldn't remember now.

_The setting was always the same—a town with pavements and not canals like Venice. The postcard stand nearby read 'Los Angeles', same for the mock car labels in that souvenir shop; it was definitely America. There wasn't much time to look as a little boy came up to her, but she didn't feel much older than the boy. He was her height, and she knew him, somehow, as Jack. _

"_Kate!" he called to her. "I've found a new hiding place!"_

_He took her hand and they ran through the buildings and even grass patches, finally ending up by the river. The grass was uneven and tickled her toes as they watched the clear water bring random bits of twigs down its course. Plucking a forget-me-not nearby, Jack gave it to her. Rosa regarded the stalk of flower for a moment._

_Just when she took it over and said her thanks, Jack's eyes widened and everything became dark. _

She found herself fingering the dried forget-me-not under the floorboard wedged between her English version of _Tom Sawyer_ when she heard her mother call for her. More money came in when she grew older with experience, and the animosity became infrequent. She finally surrendered to calling her mother one Mothers' Day as a gift of sorts, and was greeted by the embrace of a teary-eyed woman she never really grew up to know.

She smiled as a plate of piping hot breadsticks was laid on the table. "I realised I haven't introduced you to our local speciality," she said, and Rosa fidgeted. It made her sound like she really wasn't hers, and with the dream at the back of her mind, she became uneasy as she settled down on her seat.

"I've got something to tell you," she started, and Rosa looked up, her face cocked to her side, expecting a response. There was a heavy letting out of breath before she continued. "You weren't born a gypsy."

Rosa cringed. Jack's widening of eyes suddenly became clear; someone had been dragging her away. A cold stab shot through her heart as she looked at the woman she started calling mother not too long ago. Her lower lip trembled, her mind raced. _Was she the one? _

"You knew where I came from?" Rosa managed at last, after steeling all the composure left in her.

"Not really," she answered, her head low onto the plate in front of her. "Someone left me to you. I paid some money, you see."

"Where?" Rosa asked again, calm coming back to her. "Who?"

"Don't approach him," she cautioned. "It's no use. But I know for one that you're American."

Rosa swallowed down the bit of breadstick, now soggy in her mouth. A sudden stab of hate surged from her, and she tried her best to quell it. She was never a good mother at the start, but she slowly became one, and it really wasn't fair to harp on the past. She fingered with the fork on her plate, her mind in a blank.

Rosa didn't know what to say and made a silent exit as she let the breeze of the autumn embrace her face. A thin veil of mist blanketed over the water city, curling over people's feet like tendrils. A constant breeze washed over the city sweeping up Rosa's hair as she broke into a run, channelling all her energy physically. When she finally gave in to her stamina, she stopped at an alley and caught her breath. She knew it looked silly for an adult to run like that, but her mind was in a blank, and she wanted to escape from reality. Slowly, she made her way to the nearest piazza.

She sat down on a marble bench on a piazza and closed her eyes. There was a slight drizzle and cool streaks met her face occasionally; she was the only soul stationary around the piazza. A double date was planned that night—every Friday evenings was solely dedicated for it—but she felt like backing out. She knew it was unfair, and she buried her face in her palms as she tried to enjoy the blackness her closed eyes provided, not knowing whether to think or to chase those thoughts away.

-----

Rosa never knew how long it started, but they usually came out as a double date these days. All these years things changed—Venice started flooding among others—but what remained was that Claire remained hoodwinked, and Rosa never managed to dispel her hunch that Charlie felt uncomfortable around her.

Seated comfortably by a corner in a Venetian pub, Rosa, Sawyer, Charlie and Claire enjoyed their dinner seasoned with light conversation. Discussing about work was treading on dangerous waters—Sawyer had advanced into business dealings that were anything but kosher, and Charlie was silently despised by the family for not following under his father and now, half-brother's footsteps. Amongst them, they were only reduced to discussing the drama on air, which Sawyer remained extremely silent throughout always.

Rosa looked around her table: at Sawyer beside her, Claire opposite her, then Charlie beside Claire. She couldn't really recall how Charlie and Claire met; it must have been an occasion when the brothers met Rosa who happened to be with Claire. It was a blessing; Charlie spending time with Claire spared Rosa from trying to salvage their friendship, and if anything it helped mend it back together.

Rose smiled at that thought, in which Claire asked, "What're you smiling about?"

"How Jason and Sarah make a good pair," Rosa forced an impromptu excuse.

"Eew," Claire explained, wincing. "Jason's such a horrible flirt. He doesn't deserve Sarah, seriously."

Rosa smiled, enjoying the salvaged friendship she had with Claire.

"I agree with Rosa," Charlie interjected. "Sarah ain't the angel you think she is. And besides, don't you think the pauper and the successful actress make a great pair?"

"But this is drama, and this doesn't happen in dramas," Claire rebutted with a child-like insistence.

"That's just because Tom's your favourite character," Charlie argued flatly. "And you want them to be together."

-----

"Rosa?" Claire approached as the dinner ended and they dispersed home. "Have a minute?"

"Sure," Rosa nodded, glad to do anything to take the revived friendship further.

"You're not going out with Charlie aren't you?" Claire asked, quelling the suspicion in her voice. Rosa knew she was trying to make it sound light, but her wavering tone told all.

"I never liked Charlie." Rosa stopped in her tracks to face Claire, her brown orbs boring into Claire's blue ones. "And I never will."

Claire nodded, cheeks getting pinker from the alcohol and the awkward moment. "I'm sorry," she replied sheepishly. "It's just that he's getting distant these days."

Rosa nodded as if she understood, trying to bury the irritation that resurfaced as ghosts in the climax of their falling out not too long ago. Suddenly, she sensed sniffling and turned around to see a sobbing Claire.

"What's wrong?" Rosa asked, alarmed.

"I'm sorry Rosa," Claire said suddenly, gasping and bawling.

"Don't be," Rosa replied, guilt rising in her that she felt defensive on Claire. She brought Claire to a bench nearby, offered her a packet of tissue, and remained quiet. She figured it as the best way of consolation; words never really heal broken souls.

"It's just," Claire started at last, her voice halting in hiccups from the outburst. "Charlie…he suddenly introduced me to the family, and…"

"It ain't as legitimate as you think," Rosa replied, nodding.

"You knew?" Claire questioned, flabbergasted, blue eyes wide and glazed. Rosa squirmed.

"Do you know that I was raised in a gypsy family?" Rosa started slowly.

Claire nodded. "My mom thinks you were bad company."

"I'm sorry," Rosa said, realising that it was a moment of her own selfish desire that dragged Claire into this mess. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, never wishing so hard to undo what she so fervently wished for previously.

"You aren't bad company," Claire started, bracing a smile. "Charlie isn't either."

"No," Rosa started. "I started out being Sawyer."

Claire didn't reply. She withdrew her hand, which was previously squeezing Rosa's for support and encouragement. Rosa didn't wish to plug anything into the tense silence. For once, she knew something to say—she could finally admit the truth, say her story—but she didn't say it. She didn't think she was worthy of forgiveness from Claire because of her plight—it was the same reason that brought Claire into this fix.

"I'm sorry," Rosa whispered softly as she got up and left. She bit her lips afterwards, thinking of how cold it looked on her part. She sighed a second later; her presence only made it more harrowing on Claire and since frostiness had grown to be part of her, she left everything at that, deciding to listen to the soft moan of the wind as the made her way home.

_Finished the entire story already, so that's why I'm posting three chapters in a go. Take your time to read and review though. (:_


	7. Chapter 7: the rift

07 the rift

Day by day, it was getting clearer and clearer, but Rosa shrank away from it the more she understood. She was very convinced she didn't belong, and she knew where to go after all these years. Yet there was a nagging question mark about the credibility of her dream; after all she had dreamt of the impossible, like a flying Venice, before. She bit her lips; the matter was clawing within her like a monster attacking her from the inside. The breeze couldn't heal the wounds anymore; she had to think of something else.

Sawyer stayed back to take a late night walk with her after the dinner. The group dates went on a hiatus; Charlie knew almost immediately something happened between Claire and Rosa. Instead of the discomfort Rosa could pick up, she found disdain poured on her as Charlie told her, matter-of-factly, that the double dates were held over until 'further notice'.

"Sawyer?" she started, getting his attention. When he turned to face her, she looked straight ahead, avoiding his gaze. She needed all the concentration she could gather. "Do you remember the time when I said I didn't belong?"

"Well you can now, right?" Sawyer questioned, complete with his I-told-you-so tone.

Rosa shook her head furiously. "The contrary."

"You might be from Timbuktu, but I don't care." Sawyer replied lightly, his hands on her hips. Rosa backed away, agitation boiling again within her.

"I'm not you," Rosa stated coolly. "I want to know where I come from. I'm not contented twiddling my thumbs, earning so much money here."

"What're you going to do about it then?" Sawyer asked, half-challenging. Sometimes Rosa admired the cool approach Sawyer took, but this was one of the times when she was simply turned off by it. "And the money? Didn't you start out same?"

_I was forced to, _Rosa screamed from inside. She withheld it though, her brain tormenting her that she had another choice that she snubbed. _I don't like it, _she wanted to scream as well, but she decided it wasn't worth losing her composure for.

"I'm getting out of here," Rosa said simply, knowing Sawyer didn't understand the double meaning as she walked away. Rosa stared at the stars overhead in the quiet night, feeling oddly sanguine. It was just the simple fact that the cold canals and archaic buildings weren't filled with the fulfilling memories she was stolen from that told her it was simple to say goodbye to the things she was familiar with.

-----

Pulling out the contents from the loose floorboard, Rosa admired them under the pale moonlight. She smiled at the over-use of loose floorboards, but looking around, she couldn't really find a subtler hiding spot for her stash. She laid everything down around her, and then drew out her _Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn _first. She smiled vaguely, remembering the moment how Sawyer came about. She turned to the fourteenth page, and pulled out a flattened forget-me-not.

She bit her lip, twisting the dried flower, the flower Jack gave as proof that she wasn't born a gypsy. Jack was too common a name, and even if she were narrowed down to a brown-haired Jack with green eyes living in Los Angeles, there were still tons of them lying around. The grassy area in her dream should be a park, but then again Los Angeles was huge and parks were aplenty. Shaking her head, she closed her book and pushed it aside.

Pulling out an old chocolate box, its edge rusted, Rosa recounted the money she had collected over the years; it was enough to get to Los Angeles and tide over by a few months.

She looked out at the inky black night, and for the first time, concentrated on the stars that specked the sky. It was bereft of the childhood chant of 'I wish I may, I wish I might', but Rosa looked at the stars and hoped hard that she would find the truth.

She decided that she had to go there, and it was time to say her farewells. Climbing up the ladder and pushing aside the trapdoor, she asked, "Mother?"

"Rosa," was her foster mother's response as she sat up from her bed. "Do you need sleeping pills?"

Rosa shook her head. "I think I've got a lead, you know," She started, sitting on the spot on the bed her mother made way for. "So I'm going to Los Angeles."

Rosa looked as her mother blinked, got out of bed, and pulled out a tin slightly larger than Rosa's cookie tin for money. She opened it and Rosa looked as she took a thin wad from the box. "You need the money."

Rosa shook her head once more. "You forget that I'm working now," she mused. 

"It's paltry wage," She half-berated. "And besides you give me money, and I know it's not a small sum. Take it back."

"Thank you," Rosa replied as she took the money over from her mother's insistent hands, eyeing the little tin which contained all her mother's life-savings. She gave her mother an odd hug, the first hug, and she went back down to her room.

Sitting on her mattress, Rosa looked up at the inky black sky as she contemplated. Stars twinkled, as if prodding her to make all her goodbyes. The guilt still pawed hard but somehow Rosa found herself walking towards the phone.

"Claire," Rosa spoke into her voicemail, crossing her fingers and hoping she would at least listen to it. "I know you're very mad at me, but please listen to my message at least. I'm going off to Los Angeles, and if I'm successful I think I'm going to be in there for a while."

Rosa paused, thinking facts were just inadequate. "I know words can't do, but I'm sorry."

She lapsed into silence again, and then decided to muster something more before ending the message. "Gelatos melt, but I'll get something there. You don't have to forgive me. See you around, then."

Claire was beside her mobile all along, and she looked away as she rejected Rosa's call. She wanted to say sorry for her outburst; besides Rosa was a waitress like her, very much abiding every law now. Rosa also had a shard of truth in her confession, though. She was the one who started the friendship, and then pulled her into this tangled mess. She couldn't shake off the thought that Rosa truly wanted only a friend then, and being the only kid it was Claire's wishes, too.

Besides, she was like Charlie, trapped in a fate and life they didn't have the power to control, and they were just doing their best to fight back. It was the first time Rosa left a voicemail from their cold war, and Claire decided to pick it up. Rosa treated everything tacitly; she must have had something itching to say, apart from apologies.

Claire let the mail run over and over until she could almost recite the message. She could almost feel the strawberry gelatos melting in her tongue and the warmth of Rosa's handshake when she approached her for the first time.

"Bon voyage," Claire whispered to her phone.

-----

"You know about Los Angeles?" Charlie asked one day.

"Duh," Sawyer replied. "It's heaven for casinos. It's not the best way to earn money though, little mate."

"Not that," Charlie said defensively, stung by Sawyer. "Claire said something about Rosa wanting to go there."

Sawyer knitted his eyebrows. Rosa never requested for material wants, and a trip to Los Angeles was uncharacteristic. Turning his focus back to reality, Sawyer faced his half brother.

"Well, thanks," Sawyer managed whilst his mind ran riots with thoughts.

"Whatever," Charlie shrugged carelessly. He looked at his half-brother, back facing him, and wondered if they could actually get along. Though he decided to visit Rosa and ask her about Los Angeles, throughout the brisk walk to her house he kept thinking of Charlie.

He had met Rosa's mother a few times, and though she started off with a certain frostiness like Rosa, she was increasingly cordial. She ushered him into the house warmly and Sawyer immediately scooted for her room, the most unique room of all Venice.

"Que pasa?" Sawyer asked as he climbed the ladder down to her room. It wasn't the first time he came to visit, and the surprise greeting was Sawyer's forte, but Rosa seemed surprised. He looked as she seemed to snap back from thoughts which dissipated like morning fog as she concentrated on the present, looking at Sawyer in the eye.

He considered Rosa for a moment, and smiled at how her name suited her. She was as pretty as a rose with luscious brown curls and intense eyes, but her frostiness was like the thorns of a rose. "Vanity," Sawyer mused, switching back to Italian, waggling his index finger in mock disapproval, noticing she was mindlessly staring at the mirror just now.

Rosa blinked as she turned to face her fingers, fidgeting tersely. She remained silent as Sawyer slid down beside her on the bed. "Something's in your mind," Sawyer hypothesized gently. Though Rosa remained silent, her blush told it all. Stroking Rosa's cheek, Sawyer continued softly, "Tell me."

"I want to go to Los Angeles," Rosa said firmly at last, her eyes cold and stony.

"Trusted bird told me that," Sawyer said at last.

Rosa nodded. "So yeah, here's a goodbye. I'll buy something there."

Sawyer shook his head. "You forgot that you're not the only rich one around. I'll follow."

Rosa shook her head. "We had our disagreements on the matter. I don't think it'll be pleasant."

"I can help."

"No you can't," Rosa said with strong insistence. "I wanted to tell you that night, but let's split."

A cold stab shot through Sawyer. He tried hard not to narrow his eyes, not to raise the scorn in his tone. "Like it or not, I've got business to settle in Los Angeles too."

_There's where part two's coming up (:_


	8. Chapter 8: the reunion

BOOK TWO

08 the reunion

Jack had been wide awake for the past twenty minutes, his mind embroiled in a quandary. A commotion from the outside aroused him from a light sleep—a habit from his demanding career as a doctor at the hospital—and he awoke to find a small group breaking out in a fight at the alley below his balcony.

Biting his lip, guilty from looking like a cruel spectator looking at gladiators being mauled by beasts, Jack barely looked as fists were issued loosely at each other. He made out an equal four-on-four, with a female each on both sides.

Push came to shove, and his eyes instinctively closed as he anticipated a punch square at one of the woman's stomach. When he finally opened his eyes, she was slumped onto the ground, but the reed-thin man was kicking her like a disappointed boy taking his anger out on a deflated football. He let out a heavy sigh; it was time he had to do something. He had spent way too much time trying to make a decision.

"Police!" he screamed and ducked back to his room immediately, bounding down the steps and out of the house.

Jack wanted to curse his cowardice on his way down, but his fears of being confronted after raising a false alarm was unfounded. His plan out of self-protection worked; the people dissipated almost immediately, dropping poles and sticks at their wake, as well.

He only checked for the weak breathing in the woman before he picked her up quickly, running towards his car.

"Wait!" a voice called from behind. Jack didn't know if it was his fear of thugs or his doctor's creed that powered him to run forward, but he didn't stop at the command. It was a first, considering his seemingly inborn obedience. "I can take her, I'm her boyfriend!"

"I'm a doctor!" Jack counter-challenged, not bothering to look back at the hooligan. In the charged moment, he hit home the point, as if explaining to a little kid, needlessly explaining, "It's my duty to!"

He managed to fish out his key from his pocket. Handing over the body to the man, he opened the door for him. "Get in; there's no time to spare."

It was the first time Jack managed to take a close look at the guy. His eyes were cold and glinting, as if in eternal distrust and cynicism as it bore into Jack's honey-brown orbs. His bleached-blonde locks were ironed straight down his forehead and matched his sky-blue irises.

"Get in," Jack repeated impatiently as he opened the door by the driver's seat. "Your girlfriend needs immediate action."

Sawyer had to force down a gloat as the gang fled at the mere mention of the police. _"Cowards!" _he even wanted to hazard, but there was no time to when he saw a figure scooping Rosa up from the ground. It brought him back from an uncalled victory parade; he forgot Rosa got injured while fighting in the melee.

The little bit of fear in his rational mind surfaced and culminated into a nagging worry when he tagged the man, Rosa in his arms. The slight jealousy welling in him didn't help matters, too, and it soon threw the fear overboard altogether. That bit of jealousy did get placated when he said he was a doctor instinctively and took no interest in Rosa save her health. The fear, then crept back into him and gnawed incessantly that he had to refrain from kicking the seat in front of him—the doctor's seat.

It was helpful that he wasn't a policeman, but bringing Rosa to the hospital spelt an unnecessary risk, especially if her injury wasn't too deep. Stealing a look at Rosa—his freckles—he saw something lodged in her temples, presumably the debris of a beer bottle. Her foot lay in an odd position, too. She needed attention, but they had weathered countless battles with gangs more bloodthirsty than this before.

"You act as if you own the world," Saywer tried a snide remark—light for his standards—when the doctor stopped in front of a red light. "Bossing people around all the time, eh?"

"She needs attention," he replied tartly, and Sawyer hid a smirk when he saw how easily he bristled.

"You're going to promise me one thing, and you can't back out, unless you don't want her to receive treatment," Sawyer continued, deciding to be blunt since the doctor wasn't in any mood for play. His arms tightened around Rosa's waist and dragged her closer to him, as if a demonstration of what he was going to do if the doctor refused.

"And what is that?" he asked heavily. Sawyer could see him shaking his head.

"Only you can handle her case, noone else. Not even the nurse."

He remained quiet, but he nodded. However, the nod seemed rather non-committal, and Sawyer wasn't entirely sure he would keep to the promise.

When Jack pulled his car into the hospital, Sawyer decided to drill in what he wanted. "Remember," he said as the doctor lifted Rosa from the car. "No one else has to know this."

The doctor paused in his steps and turned around, his lips pursed. "Alright, alright! Aren't you even bothered that her life's at stake?"

Sawyer stung from his cutting comment and remained silent. The only thing he could comfort himself with was that if the doctor ever went back on his words he was at the liberty of doing nasty things on him.

-----

There was a sound of metals clicking, and sunlight consequently filtered into the room, tickling her eyes. Rosa winced, but was unable to do so—her forehead felt stiff. She reached to touch her temple, only to feel hard plaster knock onto each other, causing her to moan at a dull ache erupting everywhere. Flicking her eyes open, a neat shaven head popped into view.

"Good morning," he started warmly. The voice fitted the luxuriant warmth of the golden sunlight showering her face. "How are you feeling today?"

Rosa didn't understand. With a blurred vision, she made out a brown head and there was only one thought forming in her head. Mustering her breath, she asked, "Jack?"

She felt a pregnant pause amidst the bleariness. She heard the voice ask slowly and cautiously, "Is he the guy who was with you?"

Jack propped her up as she tried to focus her vision. Suddenly, her eyes widened. "No, not Sawyer. Forget what I just said," she hastily replied in crisp English, unlike Sawyer's accented one.

_I know my chapter titles are really boring, but i started off without naming my chapters. I guess here's Jack's entrance, at last. Review please? thanks (:_


	9. Chapter 9: the encounter

09 encounter

There was a wall clock facing her and it was fifteen minutes past ten; Rosa decided she had overslept. The doctor gave her a dose of medicine and left the room, leaving her to recollect what had happened. There had been a fight, and she ended up in the hospital.

Her brows furrowed at the thought; the last time she got to a fight was in her teens, in the last years before she gave up pick-pocketing altogether. It was those teen gang fights—pretty much harmless—and she evaded with deep scratches at most. Looking at her left wrist, then her right leg, she sighed. She was bored of that life and wanted it out. It didn't matter, it seemed at first, that Sawyer was still in it—after all his business wasn't hers.

She completely missed out the fact that their friendship lasted nonetheless, and adults now, Sawyer wanted more than just that. _We're just too close to live in denial_, Rosa realised and sighed heavily. The door clicked open and the thoughts dissipated like smoke; the doctor entered the room again.

"There's no need to sigh," he started brightly, smiling. "It's not too bad; Just a deep cut from the forehead, broken wrist and a sprained leg is all. You'll be out by the end of the week."

Rosa braced a smile. The doctor was optimistic, and she was grateful his didn't border improbable idealism. There was a clipboard clipped under his right arm this time, and he set it on his lap as he sat down on the chair beside the bed. Rosa could make out a form, but the font was small and she didn't want to send her head into a riot by squinting.

"It's going to be tedious," he started. "But it's the necessary paperwork."

Rosa nodded in consent and he continued, reading from the clipboard. He started, facing her and not the clipboard, "And your name is…?"

"Rosa Cortecelli," she replied softly, still recovering from whatever that had made her so languid. When the doctor raised his eyebrows she spelt, "C-o-r-t-e-c-e-l-l-i."

"I'm Dr. Jack Shephard for the record," he said lightly, nodding at Rosa's reply. Rosa's eyes widened and she bit her lip to try to retrieve her composure as he continued, "You're not a citizen here, yes?"

Rosa could only shake her head, starting to feel unease mounting within her for various reasons. Fortunately, Jack—Dr Shephard—continued his questionnaire, "So you're…"

"Italian," Rosa offered after a pause. For a split moment she almost wanted to tell the truth, that she couldn't be certain, but realised she'd look plainly deranged. Trying to quell the waver threatening to break her voice, she continued, "I'm from Venice."

The doctor smiled lightly, as if thinking of some distant past. "Romantic place, huh?"

"It's overrated," she replied, laughing. The doctor nodded and grinned; Rosa liked his easy-going nature.

"Um," he started, trying to get back into business. Rosa tensed once again, bracing for the question. "Why were you here?"

Rosa shook her head, feeling immensely uncomfortable. In addition to her softness, her voice started shaking as she continued, "The guy with me, Sawyer, he's on some business deal." It wasn't a lie—Sawyer had told her that—but it wasn't the truth either. _The grey area, _Rosa thought grimly. _Sawyer's favourite._

Jack nodded, and Rosa stifled a small sigh of relief at his not pursuing the 'business' matter. "So," he started another question. "You followed him as a girlfriend?"

Rosa felt her face go red as she shook her head. "I broke up with him, but he refuses to take it," she said, furrowing her brows, feeling hard plaster yet again. She brought her fingers to her temple, as if to alleviate the mental stress as she continued, "I'm just a long time friend."

Jack nodded, and looking at the strain on her face, put the clipboard aside. "It's alright," he said, his voice softer. "There's a lot of time to fill that thing up."

_I realised this was a short chapter. Review nonetheless, thank you!_


	10. Chapter 10: absent

10 absent

The doctor left and she was down to her own devices. She didn't want to recall anything further; her head was throbbing enough already. However, she didn't know what to do. She wanted to at least have a look at the scenery, hoping it could retrieve something back from her hibernating brain, but the cast on her foot made it improbable. She could hear cars honking vaguely from where she slept; it wasn't Venice. Factoring in the doctor's English—complete with the American accent—she was not in Italy either. She frowned, learning quickly enough not to furrow her brows. _Where is Sawyer?_

She was silently glad that the doctor re-entered the room a long while later; when her head reduced to a dull pang, she started fishing bits of information. They came back quickly enough, and her usual melancholy was starting to come back to her. "Feeling better?" He asked, and in response Rosa nodded. He shifted his gaze from the paper on the clipboard to her green eyes, and Rosa, who was looking vaguely at him, couldn't help but divert her gaze somewhere else. It had always been her to concentrate on an inanimate object; it made her look shifty, but she felt more at ease.

"Good," the doctor said, almost happily, as he propped Rosa up and settled down on the same seat. To her mild surprise, he headed for the door, leaving his clipboard by the table. "We'll do that later."

He got out of the room again, but came back in a moment later, pulling her luggage. She blinked; not believing her eyes. She had never been warded in a hospital, and dramas can't be taken for real, but no hospital had doctors looking like porters.

"Is this yours?" he started, eyebrows raised in question.

"Yeah."

"Found it right outside your door," the doctor explained. "Just like some room service."

Rosa broke into a laugh at the similar though. "For a moment there I thought if you were a porter."

"Whoever visited should put it in those cupboards." The doctor waved in the furtive direction of his right, with plain wooden cupboards.

Rosa frowned. "There weren't any visitors."

Dr Shephard raised his eyebrows. She couldn't hear it, but she saw him mouth 'Strange' under his breath; voicing her exact same sentiments. He recovered quickly enough, though, and picked up his clipboard. "Anyway, let's start again. So, could you remember anything?"

"It's blur," she started, finally but truthfully, her voice distant. "I only remember skyscrapers, and it was shortly after saying goodbye to someone."

"Continue," he urged, though his eyebrows were knitted. _Crap, _Rosa thought as she bit her lower lip, chiding herself for being so absorbed in thoughts.

"I can't remember anything else," she lied, hoping hard that he couldn't see any flush in her cheeks. "It just all went blank."

"Did you remember a fight of sorts?" he asked softly.

Then, it fell into place. Los Angeles.

Rosa blinked, trying her best not to get flustered. After all, she woke up in a delirium. With a pang, she forced her most convincing look of realisation. "Oh! I remember." She gave a pause for the effect, before she continued, "Yes, there was a fight, I got beaten up and finally passed out."

Like magic, the crease on the doctor's eyebrows were removed. She thought he raised his eyebrows for a moment, but he hid it quickly enough and even smiled convincingly. "It's good that you don't suffer from amnesia. It's not as bad as I thought. You can leave by Friday if I can push for it."

Rosa nodded as he stood up from the seat, gathering some medical instruments and his clipboard. Before he left, she decided that he should do some answering himself.

"Is there a staff shortage of sorts?" she questioned. "I mean certainly the nurses can do this too, yeah?"

"Well Sawyer," he started, a bitter smile on his face. Then he told the entire story of what brought her to the hospital after she passed out. When he smiled and left the room, Rosa pursed her lips; it still gave no reason for Sawyer's absence. She was almost certain Sawyer planted the luggage there; it had only been the two of them travelling to Los Angeles. It gave Sawyer no excuse at all not to meet her if he had the time to drop it there.

When she decided to stop thinking about Sawyer, the doctor's first name started gnawing in her head instead. _It's a common name, _she tried to reason, pursing her lips and forcing the analytical side of her kick in and restore some logic. _How could you just claim it's him?_

-----

The sun was sinking into the skyline of the metropolitan Los Angeles, casting a vivid orange to the wide canvas of pink the sky provided. It was her favourite time, for not only was it because the sky turned her favourite colour, pink, it was also the time Jack was free. A small café tucked between the skyscrapers was the rendezvous Shannon picked to meet Jack after his work.

Seated by the window, she stirred her cappuccino mindlessly as she looked out at the window. She wasn't admiring the scenery; there was nothing noteworthy to take note of—a tall metallic giant of a building and the vast tarred road squeezed with a cacophony of vehicles was all. She was just admiring the events which took place of recent, and appreciating what had been brought to her. _Was it luck? _She even questioned. _Or fate?_

Finally, she realised that it was plainly uncharacteristic of her to think so philosophically, and decided to be the classic Shannon. She flipped open her clamshell phone and read the time—five minutes past five. She pursed her lips; though she knew five minutes was rather insignificant, it was just her usual self to do it.

When Jack arrived, complete with a smart blue shirt and pinstriped pants, she smiled and decided to have some mercy on him. After all, if not for him, she would not have been given the luxury of giving leeway at all. Stowing her lipstick away, she looked at Jack sat down opposite her.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Jack said. "Well it's a special case today."

Shannon nodded and smiled. "It's ok, I understand."

There was a short pause, in which Jack plugged in, "So, what do you want for dinner?"

"Up to you," Shannon answered, forcing a smile. Though the unease from the pause had flowed away with Jack's help, the sentiment still lingered.

Looking down at the fabric of her halter, concealing a deep scar, she stirred her coffee as recalled the times when she was sure he was the one she would marry, when he nursed him back to full health and became his girlfriend. She convinced herself that it was just her hormones, which was another uncharacteristic side.

As Jack rattled off his dinner order to the waiter, Shannon thought whether love was meant to be this way.

_Ok, I know that a Shannon-Jack is the most bizarre pairing on earth, but I refuse to write on minor characters like Sarah, and I'm writing on season 1 characters so it had to be Shannon. :/ I hope the fact that it doesn't turn out well at all makes up for it :X anyhow, hope you review!_


	11. Chapter 11: secret desires

11 secret desires

From his window, Boone looked as the man (he didn't like addressing him as Jack) got out of the car with Shannon. He took the prime opportunity of being unnoticed to send his dagger vision at the man; Boone just didn't like him. There was nothing to point fault at him to, though—the man was a doctor who managed not to look geeky after the Harvard years. In fact, he was neat, not too bad looking and dressed well. _It is the flawlessness of the man that bristle me_, Boone decided finally.

Boone half-wanted to turn away in disgust as the pair turned to face each other for the intense second. When the man merely ruffled Shannon's hair gently, it didn't do much to soothe Boone's nerves. Shannon almost drove his blood pressure up when she gave the man a quick peck on the cheek.

As the man drove off and Shannon bounded up the porch steps, Boone closed his eyes and ran his fingers exasperatedly through his hair. Swallowing, he hoped the jealousy would go down, as well, to no avail.

The biking accident floated into his mind whenever the doctor visited. He had never forgiven himself for it even though Shannon did. It was his idea to cycle, and she opposed to it, which resulted in her near-death. _Forgive yourself, hero, _Boone tried to persuade, jading himself. When it didn't work, he combed his fingers through his hair hard in frustration.

_Incest_, his mind screamed. _Shannon__ is your sister!_ But emotions took reign and countered. "We're not supposed to be related," Boone muttered bitterly. Combing his hair once again, he turned at his report and forced himself to read the part he was editing.

"Turnover of the company for the past year had been huge," he started, calmly as possible, but to not much good.

The door knob turned and Boone turned around. "Some popcorn for you," Shannon said brightly. "It's mixed, your favourite." As Shannon passed the popcorn over with a bright smile, Boone forced a valiant smile.

"So, how was it?"

"Sweet," Shannon replied, her beam mirroring her response. "Night, bro."

Boone nodded as the door closed and he sighed. Little did he know that the smile all along was forced, as Shannon sighed heavily once the door clicked shut. Munching distastefully at the popcorn, Boone felt like a rat feasting on the leftovers.

Shannon slammed into her bed like a lumber-jacked tree. Finger tracing the scar over her stomach, her eyebrows knitted and she sighed. Jack was the first serious relationship she had, and though she knew saccharine love stories were only confined to Hollywood fiction, a fraction of it, no matter the size, should still be a reality.

Racking her brain, she couldn't exactly recall a moment like it, and she threw her tote aside in frustration. She hated thinking; she never did well in school. _Love couldn't be that difficult, _she thought stormily as she picked her bag up, deciding it didn't deserve such harsh treatment.

-----

As Shannon pecked on his cheek and walked into her house, Jack turned away and sighed. It was instinctive, and he froze for a moment. Slowly, he rewound the evening as opened the car door. Shannon was pretty, always smiling, regarded him as her hero; she loved her. Jack frowned, wondering why then he sighed, and even felt relieved.

A flush crept up his neck at the thought that he might actually be relieved, but he pushed the thinking side of him in. Cruising easily into the main road at nightfall in Los Angeles, he started yawning. The streetlamps which strode the roads were lit—the only illumination to the starless night—and the buildings were completely dark, like a ghost town.

He yawned again, willing himself to perk up to drive home. Despite being dog-tired, things suddenly fell into place. It was exactly the reason—he was simply bobbed down by a busy day, and Shannon wasn't exactly the best person to deal with after a day's worth of work. He was in the accident and emergency with little calamities every second, and with the added request about Rosa, he just didn't want to see Shannon. Jack admitted with a pang that she was attention-seeking, and he just didn't have the patience anymore.

It started with him fixing her, picking her up from death's vice-like grip. _Sounded romantic,_ Jack thought with a bitter smile, as he recounted the following dates, and how bereft the start of it all promised it to be. Perhaps it was those sort of love at first sight that didn't pull through in the end, he thought, pursing his lips when he conceded that there was barely any similarities they had between them.

He felt his cheeks flush at that thought again, speaking ill of Shannon, but slowly, he felt himself taking a step back and analysing everything between them both. He sighed heavily, realising that Shannon had been pouring every morsel of her grievances at him, and even when he hinted for a time to air his own, his time never materialised. To make matters worse, her politeness that evening was uncharacteristic, and he was plainly uncomfortable with it.

_Maybe I'm too subtle, _he thought as he parked onto his slot. _Maybe I'm just refusing to see the new __Shannon__ she wants to be._ He refused to take other speculations and turned off the ignition, glad to be home. When he stepped out of the car, he didn't get much of a chance to wind down as someone spoke from behind.

"Hey," he said, in an unmistakable Southern accent.

Jack turned around to face the man with bleached blond hair lying straight down his ears. He wore the characteristic smug smile, complete with dimples. His eyes were cold blue and an eyebrow cocked up, as if expecting something from Jack.

"For the record," he continued, pacing towards Jack. "I'm Sawyer."

"I know, Rosa told me," Jack explained heavily. He tried a question, hoping neither to be threatening, nor cautious—Jack tried to be as neutral as possible, but it ended up bordering prudent, as if he was scared of Sawyer. "What do you want?"

"You know, Freckles," he answered, shrugging carelessly, noticing Jack biting his lips at the same time. Then, he approached Jack in quick steps, causing the latter to take a step back. A smirk surfaced.

"Rosa?" the doctor supplied, trying harder to keep the fear at bay with Sawyer lingering so close to him. He couldn't help it, though, and his half-hearted attempt at keeping his calm morphed into exasperation. He repeated, voice slightly alarmed, "What do you want?"

"Relax, I won't bite," Sawyer started, still leering at Jack. Then, he pulled out something from his pocket, causing Jack to cringe and Sawyer to reiterate his reassurances. Pulling Jack's hand, he placed the contents in his pocket into the doctor's hand. Then, Sawyer explained, "I realised that my request would need some…payment."

It was Jack's turn to pull Sawyer's hand and shove the money back. "There's no need to be illicit," Jack replied coolly, trying hard to restrain the smug smile at the turned tables. "It'll be factored into the hospital bill is all."

"Very well Doc," he replied. Acid charged in his voice, he continued, sneering, "But you jolly well make sure you keep the promise."


	12. Chapter 12: falling out

12 falling out

Jack entered the room, trying to put up the best smile he could muster. The morning was a disaster; Shannon was trying hard to call him while he was stuck in the rush hour traffic. He had slept late and an unimportant call was the last thing he needed to get to work on time. Shannon was persistent, though, and when he picked up he was greeted by a suspicious girlfriend.

"Let's call it a split," Jack started squarely when Shannon paused to draw breath before rambling on. There was a tense silence in the line, punctuated anticlimactically by a car's honk behind him. He combed his hair hard at being stuck in his car going nowhere and mustered all the self control he had to prevent him from cursing.

"Fine," Shannon finally replied, and the slamming of the phone followed. Jack ended the line with pursed lips and continued to force his car towards the hospital, completely overlooking Shannon's acid sneer.

In retrospect, when he ended up in the hospital a good fifteen minutes late, he grew a little wary of Shannon; she was quite capable of plotting revenge. He pushed his concerns aside and decided to deal with a separate set of concerns.

"What did you like about Los Angeles here?" Dr Shephard asked as he entered the room. Rosa was getting extremely bored; the doctor—Jack—was a busy man, and thanks to Sawyer there was nobody else she could talk to.

Rosa shrugged. "It was the first night here that I got beaten."

Jack winced at her matter-of-fact recount. "It's so congested here, but yet not as well known as New York."

Rosa smiled. "It's just the same with locals thinking that Venice is completely overrated."

"Grass is greener on the other side, huh?" he concluded and they smiled as the room lapsed into quietness, the rare ones where it wasn't exactly awkward.

"Just dropped by to say," he started, punctuating the lack of noise as he headed for the door. "If you need a call, just press that button by your bed, it's the red one on top of the table."

From outside the room, Sawyer couldn't help feel a stab down his stomach when the doctor chatted with Rosa. It seemed professional, with his clipboard every time he entered the room, but the smiles were too often for comfort. Sure, he seemed like the boy next door who wore a smile as often as the sun shone, but Sawyer felt a pang nonetheless.

A movement made him retreat to a blind spot nearby—a short corridor leading to the store—and soon enough he saw the doctor walk past him. When he was assured there was nobody else nearby, he crept back to the door, thankful for the glass which allowed him to see Rosa every day.

When he thought it was time to move on, he turned around and walked as normally as he could towards the lobby. As the lift door opened, Dr Shephard came out and Sawyer stifled a swear.

"Rosa's improving quickly," he replied. "She'll be out in a few days' time."

Sawyer leaned against the metal walls of the windowless lift and tried to soothe his heartbeat that no alarm was raised.

-----

"Noontime medicine," Jack announced as he re-entered the room. He was very sure Rosa was getting bored of staring nothing but him the entire day, thought she might need some air. "How does Sawyer find this place?"

"I've got no idea," Rosa replied, slightly bristled by the sudden mention of Sawyer.

"You mean he doesn't tell you?"

"He's never visited me," Rosa replied flatly, staring at the doctor brutally. His furrowed eyebrows only made her even more riled than ever.

"It's not possible," he said softly. "I saw him take the lift just now."

"Then you saw someone who looks like him."

"I was talking to him," Dr Shephard replied, convinced it was Sawyer. Rosa furrowed her brows, breathing out in exasperation.

"Relax," Dr Shephard started, looking at his patient's vexed expression. "I'll settle the matter next time he comes."

"You mean it's not the first time?" Rosa asked incredulously, voice filled with a mix of hurt and exasperation.

"Relax," Dr Shephard repeated, refusing to tell her the truth that might hurt her even more.

-----

That had been the break-point, Shannon knew, as she threw her pillows onto the wall facing her.

"You're unusually quiet today," she remembered Jack commenting plainly as he sipped at his coffee. While there was no ill meaning in his voice—he never had ill intentions, Shannon thought in retrospect—but Shannon bristled. She was trying her best to accommodate, and he was not accepting it.

"I've been whining less, am I right?" Shannon snapped, breathing hard and fast.

"No, I didn't mean that," Jack replied, shocked by her sudden outburst. Shannon had cooled down a little and felt a little remorseful, but it wasn't her to apologise. "I…it just…I mean you're really quiet. Something brooding?"

"Yeah," Shannon grumbled. "But what can you do, anyway?" she added in a derisive undertone.

"I dunno," Jack replied exasperatedly, clearly having heard Shannon. "Well, it's just that I don't know you and well, you know."

Shannon felt riled all of a sudden. A doctor he might be, Shannon thought, but he sure wasn't having the guts for it. "I feel tired. See you," she said all of a sudden, leaving the café and Jack in a haze.

The next time she heard his voice was when she meant to apologise. Before she said a word, though, he started apologising and asked for a break-up. Every little consideration she wanted to shed ended up in calamity, she thought as she smirked bitterly at the whitewashed wall in front of her. Everything pissed her off, and the starkness of it was a catalyst. Walking towards the wall, she picked up her pillow and slammed it against the wall, white against white.

A moment there she thought of the time when she learnt to be this way, back in Venice. She thought of that girl, and wondered how she was doing half a world away. She shook her head, chasing away those thoughts. _No time for sympathy, _she thought as she continued slamming the pillow against the wall, a bittersweet smile on her face with the flying of feathers from the impact.

She must have done that for a long while, for when she finally thought of something feathers littered the place. She walked out of the room and hailed a taxi to her office. She headed straight for her brother's, though.

"Boone," Shannon said, barging suddenly into his office. Though he had a personal office, he had a feeling Shannon was not going to talk about business, and he felt nervous all of a sudden. "Jack broke up with me."

There was a tense silence as Boone absorbed the news. Somehow, it came as a blow; Shannon was single now, but her eyes were glazed and Boone felt a pang. He tried not to squirm as he forced his practical side into the picture.

"Time will heal," he said. Though he knew it sounded clichéd, it was the plain truth. His fingers were crossed behind his back, hoping she would just leave, or even rant. He knew that wouldn't be Shannon, and true to his instincts, his wished didn't come true.

"I want you to do something," Shannon replied shakily, tears brimming in her blue eyes, reddening the whites.


	13. Chapter 13: step into truth

13 step into truth

Sawyer should've have seen it coming; certainly Rosa would realise that Sawyer was clearly missing from the picture. She was observant and it was too easy for her to notice him stalking by her door. Contrary to the pleasant surprise on her face he expected, though, he was greeted by a pair of cool green eyes on her unfazed visage.

Gingerly, he opened the door, but he tried to hide any remorse welled in his heart. "Hey Freckles," he started in his confident tone. When Rosa didn't respond, gaze cold and unwavering, Sawyer felt even more uneasy than before. "What's up?"

"What's up?" she repeated the question snidely. "What's up with _you_?"

His gut feeling was that Rosa had known all along, and cold sting at the pit of his stomach formed. It was difficult enough to bury his unease when he entered the room; he couldn't hide his emotions anymore. Haltingly, he replied, "You know what happened before this…and how it's risky to be seen."

"You think the police would catch you?" Rosa questioned coolly. Despite that seemingly unaffected expression she had, Sawyer could tell that she was hurt, and hiding it in her usual manner. "Then why did you start this entire thing in the first place?"

Her second question hit like a punch that night; she was simply not making sense. It was not too difficult for his eyes to turn his usual hardness; cool fury was boiling inside. "Haven't you been doing the same all these while?"

"I was forced to," Rosa said simply, her lips thinning and voice trembling. "Let me tell you, one last time. I'm not an Italian."

"That's exactly the point," Sawyer sneered. "It's not that easy to strike rich, unlike that doc whats-his-name."

"Then try. If you don't strike rich, at least live without nightmare," Rosa replied flatly. "He's Dr Shephard."

"Right," Sawyer retorted, half-spitting Eyes narrowing, he let loose the suspicions mounting in him the entire week. "You like that doctor, don't you?"

Rosa laughed bitterly. "Get out."

"You think I'm selfish and jealous," Sawyer started. "But do you realise I'm a wanted man? And if anyone walking around this place notices that, I'll get caught and get a jail term slapped? It'll get worse if they ever uncover my petty crimes, and when they know I'm visiting you they'll find out you were once a thief as well?"

"I said, get out, James." Her voice reached a dangerously soft level; Sawyer had seen resent in Rosa, but this was a first—anger was brimming and it was a matter of time before destruction. He had never been called James ever since the nickname started, and it stung for Rosa, of all people, to call him that.

However, he did not want to let it go that easily; he shook his head. "I'm waiting for him," Sawyer said calmly, feeling like a resenting teen. "He likes you so much he can beat me out of the room."

Rosa reached for the button beside the bed. Sawyer didn't know what it would do, but he knew it was bait for unnecessary attention. He tried to stop her when Dr Shephard came into the room. "What on earth?"

"Very well said," Sawyer replied the shocked doctor, still suppressing Rosa. He sneered, looking at the stunned expression on his face—it was all a façade on his part. "I'm discharging her."

Dr Shephard said something, but his voice was lost in the din as Sawyer pulled Rosa up from her bed, in which she grunted and provided much resistance.

"Stop it!" Dr Shephard shouted. "I'll have to call people in if you continue with this."

It seemed to work, and Sawyer backed off, seeming to be stung physically as well. He retreated from he room, muttering acidly. "I'll be back," he said at last, before slamming the door hard behind him and storming off in cold fury.

Silence rang in their ears after the confrontation. Rosa fidgeted before she replied softly, "Thanks."

"My duty to," Dr Shephard mumbled subconsciously, shaking his head while concentrating on the condition of Rosa's bandages.

He pursed his lips after the examination, and a pit formed in Rosa's stomach. "Did more damage?"

"No, not that," Dr Shephard replied, snapping back from being lost in thought. "It'll be tough to handle him next time he comes without the hospital staff trying to stop."

Swallowing, Rosa braced herself and asked softly, "Do you know why he arranged for sole attention?"

Dr Shephard stared at her but remained silent. Rosa remained silent, the bravery she mustered all dissipating.

"I heard everything," Dr Shephard replied at last. "I realised that I've been treading on dangerous area."

Rosa looked down at her fingers, which were fidgeting tensely. Thoughts were running wildly in her head; the hospital stay would take a long time, and with everything starting to hit back at her, she needed to do something.

Without knowing why, she found herself requesting suddenly. "May I go out? As in a walk around the garden?"

_Sorry I took a while before I reposted. Review, please? _


	14. Chapter 14: wishes

14 wishes

There was a tense silence between them as the doctor helped her up. Even though it was a sprain, it seemed serious and she limped slowly with Dr Shephard close behind. When she entered the garden, though, the feelings in her seemed to be released into the tranquillity. Rosa cracked a smile when she was pushed slowly into a riot of green flecked with bright yellow and red. Perhaps it was the lack of plants in Venice, but the sight of flowers never failed to drag her into serenity.

"Sometimes nature's therapeutic, eh?" Dr Shephard remarked, as if nothing had happened before. Rosa wondered for a moment if her fascination had been obvious. "Los Angeles is this concrete jungle, and I used to find bits of nature and spent my time there."

"Same here," Rosa replied, enjoying the feeling of the fluttering of butterfly wings on her fingertips. Suddenly, she decided to try her luck. "Is Los Angeles safe?"

The doctor's eyebrows were raised, and he paused a moment before replying. "Normally, yes, but I think you'll get a slide."

Rosa shut her eyes as she smarted from his words quietly. She wanted to get discharged as quickly as possible and get into what she came here for, but everything had been thrown off-course. She grimaced; it was another of those be-careful-what-you-wish-for and she wondered for a moment if things could just for once turn out right.

"I know you're treading on dangerous waters," Rosa started all of a sudden when he wheeled her back into the room. "I'm sorry." Her mind was racing; she needed someone to talk to, and suddenly she felt like pouring her life story to Dr Shephard. It was imprudent, dangerous even, but Rosa was bored of waking up to questions already.

"Do you want to know what I had done?" she finally asked.

There was a long pause. Finally, the doctor said softly, "It's really up to you. I'm just here as a doctor is all."

There was a long pause, longer than before. She fidgeted a while and realised that if she didn't speak any longer Dr Shephard was going to leave the room.

"I'm not Italian," she started shakily. "I didn't come here to follow Sawyer, but what I told you were the truth."

She expected some incomprehension from him, but he remained silent, which drove the break point in her voice. A tear fell as she continued, "My identification reads 'Italy', but I wasn't born there. Both of us wanted to come here, so loosely speaking I was following him and vice versa."

A tissue box materialised in front of Rosa, whose vision was kept strictly on the blanket covering her lap. She looked up to see him offering tissue. He nodded and replied, "I'll leave the papers as your original answers, it's simpler."

Taking the box, she daubed away the teardrops and muttered, "thank you", which was an apt enough phrase to round up the many things that had happened.

-----

Half an hour was left before five when he dropped a visit again. "Well and good?" he asked, pretending again that nothing had happened.

Rosa nodded, feeling heat creeping into her cheeks.

"You'll have to practice walking with an injured leg. So yes, you'll see the flowers again."

Rosa crack a weak smile, feeling like she climbed one rung up a ladder from the bottom of a well. He nodded and turned around; she grunted something. Frankly she didn't know what either, but she knew she had to say something to him.

"Thanks," she said haltingly, as if hiccoughing from a bout of tears. "For everything."

She expected him to say 'my duty to', or something along the lines of the fact that he was a doctor, but he simply nodded and replied, "No problem" and left the room with a soft click of the doorknob.

She let her tears flow out, making the blanket damp. When it stopped, she looked detachedly at the damp patch her tears made on the white fabric. Once bitten, twice shy, she thought that she wouldn't wish hard for something again, but she was sure this wish could never do any harm.

Finally raising her head to face the deep orange of the sky in sundown, she wished hard that everything would turn for the better.


	15. Chapter 15: in progress

15 in progress

"Are there any parks around here?" Rosa asked, after finally being slightly comfortable with the cast.

"Well yeah, but you can't get out unless you're discharged," Dr Shephard answered. "I could take you there soon though."

Rosa remained silent, not wanting to make a decision too soon. While Sawyer didn't visit and she didn't want him to, he left abruptly and there were still things they had to solve.

Taking in a deep breath, she braced herself as she restarted from where she left off yesterday. "About Los Angeles I asked yesterday," she started. "whether if it's safe; I wasn't asking about well, our safety. I was just wondering if there were crime and stuff."

"Like every big city you can't keep things in a safe bubble," Dr Shephard replied. "But well we're still alive and kicking."

Rosa cracked another smile. She was thankful that he didn't dwell in matters much, but thanking him again would be plainly overdoing it. She decided to pursue her matter instead. "Any disappearances?"

He furrowed his brows and Rosa bit her lips. She realised her connection to Sawyer made things difficult for him, and the fact she needed a bit of his help gave a pang in her stomach. "Time to time," he said vaguely.

"Any you heard of personally?" she asked.

"Yeah," he answered, face darkening. "But that's donkey years ago. Things are different now."

Rosa had to channel all her attention to her walking. Her heart was palpitating; there might be many brown haired Jacks around, but certainly there couldn't be many Jacks who had seen missing people.

When she was back into her ward, she started, one last time, "About the park? Could you bring me there?"

"Sure," Dr Shephard agreed readily, complete with a nod in his head. "On Friday, after I discharge you? My shift ends then too."

Rosa quelled her thanks; it wasn't her to be so polite. She believed in actions and not words, but in her heart, she thanked him nonetheless.

-----

Boone pursed his lips as he sat in his car, looking at everyone exiting the building. He couldn't believe his stupidity, but then again with a teary-eyed, blotchy-nosed sister, one couldn't refuse her request. Letting the cool air-conditioning from his car bathe his face, he pursed his lips still at how easily he was cajoled into doing this preposterous errand.

Five o' clock came when the sky first tainted with orange. It spread like water on sponge—slowly but steadily. His eyes weren't fixed on the sky but the trickle of working people streaming steadily out of the building. His hunch was correct, and the target didn't walk out but drove out in a black Chevrolet; the Chevrolet he had grown accustomed to by staring acidly at when parked below his window.

Despite the mild irritation at the entire thing, Boone couldn't help laugh at how detective-like the whole thing went as he followed the Chevrolet from a distance. It wasn't the action-packed Hollywood production that bordered being melodramatic; there was a silent cool edge to it like a neat detective flick. Boone smiled; it was closest to Batman he could ever be.

He would never have admitted, but his idol was not a Hollywood actor in the form of Brad Pitt, and neither did it take up the form of some tennis star like Roger Federer. Batman was simply the iconic hero in his heart since the first Batman and Robin cartoon ever rolled out. Robin was the sidekick and he didn't admire that; Boone loved the cool bravery of Batman, and his patience to shrug away all criticism rained over him.

Forcing himself back into real time and concentrating on the roads, increasingly difficult with the peak-hour traffic, he sighed. Batman was a hero for good; he didn't know for sure if it would all culminate into something vaguely positive. To add to matters, his hands were getting clammy and the grip on the steering wheel had been subconsciously tightened.

The black Chevrolet bended a corner and drove into a cul-de-sac. It wasn't the richest lane in Los Angeles, but the mansions didn't come cheap. Boone parked in the next lane, deciding to backtrack. There was no reverse in a cul-de-sac, and the lack of people made it even more difficult for him to execute.

He meant to prance the moment he stepped out of the car, but when he ran to the road the man was already out of the Chevrolet. Boone stifled a curse as he pushed his willpower to continue with what he was doing. However, it didn't work, and he watched as Jack Shephard walked into his mansion.

Boone had never felt more failed in his life as he watched Shannon's ex-boyfriend play the piano in the hall. The tune was soft, and smooth, slowly lulling the street into quiet serenity. Boone stared moodily at the bush in front of him as he tried to push away the simple tune that emanated from the polished grand piano. It was difficult, though, and temperament's vice-like grip on him loosened as Boone finally surrendered to the music.

It was sad, but not the plodding nor brooding kind which only bobs you down into the bottomless pit of depression. It was melancholy, its slow pace pushing space for reflection and contemplation. Boone brooded, but now bereft of the boiling anger.

He took a look at Jack who was absorbed in playing the piano. He sighed once more; it seriously wasn't his fault. He didn't like Jack, but there was certainly no reason to _hate _him. It was easy to point fingers at him, but that only made Boone short-sighted and rash. Besides, it was Shannon's personal matter and there was a boundary between what siblings should do.

Boone bit his lips at the thought of growing up to be Batman to Shannon. He walked away into his car, wreaking his brains to come up with an explanation for his not doing retribution.


	16. Chapter 16: one resolved ordeal

16 one resolved ordeal

He came in suddenly and wordlessly, swiftly heading for the cupboards. Rosa wasn't surprised; it would be natural for him to come in with temperament as his invisible buddy. It would be natural, too, to have irritation by her side. Bag by her bedside, she asked boldly, "What are you doing?"

Sawyer grunted an answer that sounded like 'C'mon' in Italian as he dragged her bag away. Rosa had her grip on it, and though she was still swathed in bandages there was still enough resistance for Sawyer to stall.

"Look," Sawyer started flatly. "The doc said himself that you're discharged today. If you miss him, you should've done your goodbye kisses just now."

"Let me make this plainly clear to you," Rosa fought back, the irritation unleashed into annoyance. "There's nothing between us. It's just your minds playing tricks. If you visited me more often you'd see."

"Ease my heart when I get thrown behind bars?" Sawyer spat.

"You let me go alone, this entire week, wasting in boredom here," Rosa started, trying to quell the fury. "And now you're just saying that I'm to follow you?"

"Where're you going to, then?" Sawyer challenged.

"I came to find a life," Rosa started. "And I will live by my fancy."

"You've got one in Venice!" Sawyer exclaimed in exasperated disdain.

"I made an existence from a life I was stolen from," Rosa said coolly. She heard an unmistakeable click, and when nothing happened she was certain Dr Shephard was in the room.

"What makes you so sure you aren't the daughter of a gypsy." Rosa anticipated Sawyer's challenge. "What makes you so sure you aren't a gypsy?"

"Because she said it!" Rosa burst out, knowing it was now or never. "I spent my entire life resisting not calling her mother, and when I finally surrendered she told me I was adopted."

"So now you'll by chance knock on a random door, say 'hi, I'm your long lost daughter' and have a happy reunion?"

"Yes."

Sawyer smirked. "Wake up, Rosa. That only happens in fairy tales."

"I've got a lead, and I'm going alone."

"Two heads are better than one." Sawyer started tugging the luggage from her. He won the tussle, and turned to face Dr Shephard. "Well, now we have the complete triangle here."

"Get out," Rosa said coolly, eyes slightly glazed. She issued the ultimatum. "James Pace."

"You're not going to jeopardise my visa," Sawyer spat and stormed off, not forgetting to knock roughly into the doctor in the process.

Apologies and thanks dissipated from Rosa. She merely sat coolly in her bed, head sideways facing her luggage in the middle of the room.

"You're discharged," He started oddly at last.

Rosa nodded. She clamoured to her luggage, in which Jack helped to push to her bed. She pulled out her wallet but was stopped. "He paid before he came," Dr Shephard explained. Rosa bit her lip and nodded once more.

"Could you," Rosa mustered, knowing it was the worst time to ask for a request. "Take me to the park?"

"My shift's ending soon," Dr Shephard started. "But I've got to settle things first. Wait at the lobby."

-----

It worked once more, and Rosa felt her feelings loosen and dwindle amongst the verdant greenery.

"It's amazing how you find this in the middle of," Rosa paused, trying to search for the correct word. "A concrete jungle."

"One day the town planners of Los Angeles decided to be funny," Dr Shephard started. "And decided to make this place a jungle with many definitions."

Rosa fought down a snort as silence fell between them. "I grew up here," he started at last. They were looking at a group of boys playing baseball not far away. "Have lots of stories to tell."

Rosa nodded. Her mind was heavy, and she was in no mood to accept more stories.

It was one of those evenings where the sunset was uneventful—the sky merely added a cobalt tinge and darkened into black, neither orange nor pink added to it at all. "Where's the nearest hotel?" Rosa started.

"You can come with me," he offered, and Rosa immediately shook her head. "Don't worry, my parents live with me."

"But-" Rosa started, only to be cut off once more.

"It's too late to book; Los Angeles has lots of tourists."

-----

Rosa entered the Shephard's house with a sense of trepidation and déjà vu. The neatly-trimmed hedges and artfully designed mansions were a replay of her first visit to Sawyer's house. A small throb surfaced somewhere but was soon consumed by the powerful churning of her stomach. She fidgeted and Jack sensed it.

"They're strict," he started. Trying to lighten the mood, he tried to joke. "But they don't eat people up." 

The déjà vu only got worse when she was left many steps away, with Jack talking to his parents at the doorsteps in hushed tones. Soon enough he rushed back and ushered Rosa into the house, knotting her stomach in addition to the churning. She thought that her face turned green; she hadn't had anything since the morning but she wasn't hungry at all.

His parents had regal smiles and bobbed their heads in welcome. No words came out even when Rosa mustered a 'Good evening.' Dinner was a quiet affair; somehow they expected Rosa because the food was enough to accommodate her. There was nothing much of a dinner conversation; Jack and his father seemed to be embroiled in a discussion relating to medicine came closest. Another knot added within her; it seemed like a family of distinguished doctors and she was a complete misfit.

It came in a blur and Rosa was extremely thankful there were not many questions shot at her direction. The younger Dr Shephard showed her to the guest room after dinner. "We'll talk tomorrow," he started. "After my shift. Just make yourself comfortable when I'm away."

Rosa braced a smile as he closed the door. She didn't know what to do; the room was huge and well-furnished. There were even a bookshelf and a toilet. She finally settled for the soft bed, cocooned herself under the sheets and balled herself up. She hugged her knees though the blanket provided enough warmth from the cool autumn night.

She had always vaguely imagined her parents as middle-income families. The only concrete thing she thought was that they were law-abiding; she didn't expect if they were rich and high-flying like the Shephards. She closed her eyes so tight that a tear trickled out. She clenched her fists tight as she tried to control the wave of fear sweeping her.

Finally she opened her eyes and looked out of the window, partially covered by a half-drawn curtain. The only light from the outside came from street lamps; Los Angeles was too bright for stars. If it happened twice, she thought that it should happen again, and she wished once more that everything would turn for the better.


	17. Chapter 17: realisation

17 realisation

It was rather bright when Rosa woke up. Autumn was tricky to tell the time from the colour of the sky, so she found a clock nearby. It read seven, and she thought that it should be early enough a time for the family. She washed up leisurely, taking a longer time than usual to wash her face. _This is the start, _Rosa told herself. _You've got to give yourself the best shot. _

Breakfast was as tense as the night before and the only saving factor was the fact that Jack had to rush for work. When he left with the silent whine of car engine, everything fell back into the same quiet unease.

"There wasn't much time to do introductions last night," Jack's mother broke the silence. Rosa forced herself to look into the woman's eyes. There was neither kindness nor disgust; she was emotionless and Rosa wasn't sure which was scarier: disgust or the lack of it. "I only know you as Rosa."

Rosa nodded and as calmly as she could she recited everything she assumed grudgingly to be true since birth.

"Is there a school in Venice?" She asked after Rosa's introduction.

Rosa shook her head, feeling her stomach churn the breakfast. She felt like throwing up again. "I was home-schooled," she explained. She sighed inwardly; it was the grey area again. The closest to education she got was Sawyer teaching her to read Italian, then her self-teaching of English, and the occasional times when she joined Sawyer's lessons.

"You've never left Venice at all to study?"

Rosa shook her head, extremely aware of her flushed cheeks.

"What do you do in Venice?"

"I'm a waitress," she started, trying to scold herself for being embarrassed. "Occasionally I'm a curator, too." That was another iffy topic; curators needed an arts degree and she was only able to get the job through Sawyer.

Her mother nodded, still lacking in emotions. There was no interest whatsoever; Venice always raised interest in people and even though she didn't like to discuss the significance of St. Marks Square or some obscure mural in Venice she wished nothing but a discussion of sorts with his mother about it this time.

No such luck and as they cleared the table, she tried to tell herself that at least her life sounded respectable. _It isn't to them, _she countered miserably as she went back into the guest room. Locking herself in the toilet, she let the tears flow and she crossed her fingers that her parents wouldn't be like that.

-----

She knew that time was a queer thing; it passed quickly when during enjoyment, and it pulled into endless eternity during times of hardship. It capitalised on people's sufferings and she thought that this was an epitome. The relief that passed through her when she saw Jack's car pulling into the house was immense.

There was another long wait—she assumed he was having his lunch—before he finally popped his head into the room. "The park?" he suggested, and Rosa nodded, feeling the knots untie at last.

"I hope they haven't been grilling you too badly," he started when they were out of the house. Rosa had been observing the park. Autumn came and it was a cool jacket-weather. Leaves started falling from trees, powering the grass with vibrant reds, oranges and even yellows. It added much colour to the otherwise dour building and skyline of Los Angeles.

"I haven't had formal education, and have a paltry wage by serving for some café is what they know," Rosa started, and Dr Shephard sighed.

"They can be quite demanding," he started, shrugging helplessly.

"You're an example," she noted and he grimaced.

"True," he confessed and they walked in silence.

The trees and grass, together with the benches and pavements, were making a steady impression in Rosa's mind. She thought of Dr Shephard's words yesterday and decided she should get things over with.

"Um, Dr Shephard?" She started nervously.

"Jack," He corrected with a grin. "I'm not really your doctor now."

"Jack," She started again, trying to sound more confident. "You said you've got stories. Tell me one."

He smiled as he told of how he and his team of friends came out of a ploy to make fun of the old woman who fed the cats every afternoon.

"We always sat by that bench," He explained, pointing at a wooden bench nearby. "Fork out everything we had in our bags and try to come out with something from there."

"Did you do anything to her in the end?" Rosa asked amusedly.

"Well yes," Jack started. "We followed her home and the next day piled grass by her doorstep. When she came out of the house we got a dog to greet her."

"What happened?" Rosa asked again, trying hard not to snort.

"Well," Jack started, pausing for the effect. "We didn't expect her to hate dogs _that _much, and she chased it away with a broom."

"At least she wasn't bitten or anything," Rosa replied.

"My friend wanted to," He continued, letting a mock dark expression cross his face. "She did hit the dog quite badly."

"It's still your fault," Rosa chided jokingly.

"That's why we never tried to mess her path again," he replied with a child-like wisdom and both of them cracked up laughing.

A short time of quietness lay between them to regain some composure before Jack started again.

"My turn to ask." He started, and then paused, as if to collect thoughts. "Heard your story. And you know, that's why I decided to help."

Rosa nodded, waiting for him to continue, buying time to clear her head.

"Anyway, so I guess I deserve more than just the basics."

Rosa took in her breath and capitalised the silence in pretext of collecting her thoughts. She tried as quickly as she could to sift out what she didn't want to let loose, and when she decided the silence had been too long she started talking, "I knew bits of English and needed to brush up on my Italian. I taught myself English when Sawyer had to teach me Italian. She wasn't the best of stepmothers, so it was really easy for me to be convinced I wasn't Italian."

Jack nodded, egging her to continue. "Childish wilfulness gave way and I buried the hatchet. She uncovered it again by telling me I was adopted. Thing is, she refused to tell me who I was bought from, and the only thing she knew was that I came from America."

"Why Los Angeles?" he asked. Rosa anticipated the question too, but she couldn't think of another way to explain.

"Gut feeling," she replied as lightly as she could, hoping it would pass.

"There's no such thing." Jack didn't buy it, and while his voice wasn't harsh at all Rosa felt a sinking sensation. She had to tell the truth, but she couldn't confirm it herself. "I mean you could've been born in Ohio. And gut feelings aren't that certain."

"I don't look like a farm girl," she answered lamely.

"Rosa," Jack started and stopped in his tracks. Rosa stopped too, now extremely aware of the fact that her eyes had been on the grass patch right in front of her feet all this while. "Please tell me the truth. For once."

"I figured," Rosa continued adamantly. She was sick and tired of using the grey area, and her stomach sank more when the words came loose from her mouth.

Jack was right in front of her and she could feel his gaze. She tried hard not to squirm as his hands gripped her shoulders. It wasn't tight but firm, but it made Rosa queasy nonetheless. "The truth, Rosa. The truth."

"I don't know for sure why," She started, feeling miserable. "At least not now."

-----

It took most of the self-control Boone could muster not to kick the tree stump beside him. The pit of his stomach turned cold and his head spun; perhaps Shannon might have her faults but this time that doctor had his share of bad, too. There was once, when he was drowned in jealousy, Boone promised to gloat when he saw the doctor's pitfall. He promised to see it, and now that it was his best shot at inflicting harm he could only muster a bitter smirk.

Stealing another look at the intense stare the doctor had, he didn't know if he should pity the woman standing in front of him. Though there wasn't concrete proof, it wasn't possible that Jack could've gotten another girlfriend that fast.

Shaking his head, Boone spun around to face the pond in front instead. The matter was throwing him off-course once more, and he was just so close to completing it. The girl Jack was with was definitely out of the picture—it was a personal thing between the men.

Ignoring the muscle twitching in his arm, Boone cracked his knuckles and drew in a deep breath; it had to be the time. He didn't scavenge for a single stick to aid him; he didn't think Jack deserved a fair fight, but he wasn't going to derive satisfaction from an upper hand advantage.

He spun around once more and charged towards his target.

-----

"What was that?" Rosa asked softly, almost afraid, as she helped Jack down to the bench clumsily. She bit her lip an instant later; of all people she knew about personal secrets and the entire thing about telling the truth lashed back at her like a mental whip.

"An overly suspicious brother of an ex-girlfriend," he said simply without much of a pause. Rosa expected him to remain quiet, brooding over the sudden onslaught, and his answer only smite her.

"Is it alright?" she asked timidly once more, deciding it had been the better way out.

"No bones protruding weirdly," he started, pulling out his handkerchief and pressing on his grazed right elbow. "I guess it's just bruises and cuts."

She looked helplessly, hoping something would salvage her from the awkwardness. Jack was possibly the only one who was remotely friendly towards her and her constant evasion only made things difficult. "Need help?" she tried, but Jack shook his head.

Rosa took the silence for things to pass. When Jack finally removed his handkerchief to examine the wound, he nodded furtively and got up. They walked with silence hanging heavy; the light breeze bringing dried maple leaves scraping the concrete pavement suddenly became loud. Rosa silently thanked the lack of children around; it would've been even worse.

When listening to the scraping of leaves against concrete became too hard to bear, Rosa decided it had to be the time. "Do you remember the story of disappearing things?"

She sensed Jack turning to face her. She chose to look ahead, glad that not much of cool left with the attention on her. She continued, "One day, you noticed that your favourite jersey had gone missing. And then a good many days later one of your friends disappeared like that, too?"

"How did you-" Jack started softly. Rosa thought that his voice was mixed in surprise and hurt, but she decided to get things over with.

"I'm not sure about the jersey," she started. Looking ahead, she saw that huge oak tree and ran towards it. Looking into the hole, she continued, "It's gone, the girl stashed it here. But the girl? She's back, and she's right in front of you."

She finally mustered the strength to look at Jack. His forehead was creased, his eyes tinged with disbelief and he shook his head subtly. She walked towards him and continued, "My foster mother called me Rosa. But I believe I am Kate." For the first time she uttered her name out loud, and to her mild surprise there was not much of acceptance of that identity from her. Besides, she had always imagined her name in words, branding herself with it very often as a child.

"She went missing, yes," He said at last. A knot formed in her stomach when he referred to Kate as 'her'; she was like a completely different identity that Rosa didn't fit into.

Rosa let the silence reign between them once more as they walked down the pavement with muted tapping from their feet on the asphalt. She knew it was a tense silence and she fidgeted in response, but only time could heal the initial ripple of disbelief.


	18. Chapter 18: truth hurts

18 truth hurts

It was Sunday and Jack didn't need to work, and though things were still odd between them from yesterday, Rosa was thankful Jack initiated the walk; she was still rather uncomfortable around his parents. They strolled on the pavement with Jack slightly in front, leading the way. She remained silent, waiting for him to start talking.

"We're going to the library," he started at last, and Rosa furrowed her brows in response.

"Why?" she asked, trying to think of a reason herself.

"Newspaper archives," he said lightly. Rosa nodded, pretending to comprehend, and they fell into a silence.

The library was regal and old—it was comfortably lit with orange lights and the wallpaper bore a mauve flower motif. It was a cavernous place and books lined the tall shelves in the space behind the counter. Jack motioned for her to wait while he approached the counter staff. There was no queue, so he spoke immediately.

Rosa looked at him; his back facing her. He was helpful and provided her with more aid than she would ever need. Guilt bubbled inside—it was obvious his parents didn't like her company and she wanted to get it over with. At the same time, she couldn't help but feel the warmth he brought from the chilly morning with his helpfulness.

Rosa shook her head, trying to dispel those thoughts. She couldn't quite figure out why Jack would ever need newspapers; while she didn't read them often she didn't think people's names would be listed like lost pets.

She watched all this time as he pulled out his wallet and flashed a card, presumably his library card. When the librarian gave a nod, he turned to Kate and motioned to follow. The librarian ushered them into a room to the left and opened the door with her keys.

"We've got to make it fast," Jack said.

"I don't exactly know what you want to find," Rosa admitted, trying not to crinkle her nose at the musty smell of the room lined with the smell of ancient newspaper. She expected him to be snappy; after all she feigned understanding earlier on.

"I think you disappeared when we were," He paused, as if he didn't listen to her question. "in first grade. We were in school already but still very young."

Rosa nodded, trying to assume it as an explanation of sorts. He found the archive labelled in the correct year and pulled it out. "That's where I'm stumped," He continued, turning to face Rosa, his green eyes on her brown orbs. "I can't remember the month."

"Late summer," Rosa started almost immediately. "In the alcove of summer and autumn."

"That must be July or August," he started. "I'll take the July you take the August."

"Why are we reading through those?" She decided to rephrase her question.

"I believe we forgot your last name," he said. He smiled at how dumb that sentence would otherwise sound, and Rosa cracked a smile.

Jack handed her a thin pile of yellowed papers and she gently unfolded the one on top, careful as to not tear the thin delicate pages. She went through a small pile before she saw it, on a small column by the side. It was a small article and she almost skipped it, so was thankful that it caught her eye in time. Passing a quick glance at Jack, she decided to read it first.

Her mind was reeling when she finished the last word of the short paragraph and passed it to Jack. She remained in her seats, the last sentences pounding on her head. "The police believed that the serial kidnapper, Mr Ford, had his hands involved in this case. He had connections with the Italian mafia and the children are believed to be stowed there."

She barely notice Jack walking towards her side. "You okay?" his voice sounded distant.

"The speculation was correct," she started, trying to bury her misery with surprise. "I—we—were stowed away, and sold."

"That guy stirred up a lot of news later on," Jack started softly. "Apparently he kidnapped a rich businessman's kid. Similar cases disappeared after that."

"There might be a lot of others like me," she started, her mind in a blank.

The silence didn't really bother her as it engulfed the room. Then she felt Jack's hand on her back as he knelt down beside her. "We've got to solve your issue first," he started softly at last. "Kate."

Her eyes, which were dead fixed to her fidgeting fingers, immediately looked into his face. She grimaced and nodded. He braced a smile and helped her to her feet.

-----

"Thank you," Jack said as he ended the call on his cell phone. He faced Kate and explained, "I got the directory and wheedled out your parent's address."

"There's only one Austen around?" Kate questioned.

"Only one in Los Angeles, it seems," he replied, shrugging. They got into his Chevrolet and cruised around the outskirts of the bustling business district. Soon, the houses grew shorter; skyscrapers diminished from the scenery. Rosa knitted her brows, not remembering the landscape at all.

As if reading her mind, Jack explained, "It's in the fringes of Los Angeles."

Kate bit her lip. "I don't remember this place at all."

"Perhaps they moved," He started smoothly. Pausing a moment, he then continued, but this time he said it haltingly, "You know, probably they wanted to get away with all that had happened."

Her teeth were still clenched to her lip; thoughts were running through her mind, speculations of what family she could've grown up in. Suddenly, the harmonious, peace-loving one she always cut out in the past disappeared altogether; she had inadvertently written them off. Looking at the increasing amount of trees that line the road, her heart thumped rapidly.

She couldn't quite remain alert when Jack's car pulled to the side of the road. "There we are," he said and Kate detected a pause in between, as if allowing her to settle down with her thoughts. She blinked and looked out from the car window. The house nearest to her had no-frills—the lawn was neatly mowed, but that was about all, and not a single stalk of flower specked the green canvas.

"Is that…" she started slowly but shakily, her voice slowly trailing off into a barely audible whisper. Jack nodded, and though his face was rather emotionless she thought for a moment it looked grim. She had never grown up to believe in omens unlike her foster mother, but it was hard to shake away those thoughts that they didn't exist now.

She felt his hands take hers. She felt a flush and was unsure whether it was the contact or the realisation that her hands had been trembling. "You've gone so far," he started firmly but softly. "Give it a try."

She the warmth his hands gave lingered for a moment when he withdrew his hands slowly. Taking in a deep breath, she forced the rational part of Kate, the typical Rosa, in. Once the thought that the moment she found family she could throw away that for good and she tried to smile at the irony of gearing everything up for that occasion.

She paused a moment by the wooden door. She then hastily straightened her shirt and combed through her hair, setting it neatly on her back. Kate cleared her throat and quickly let out the deep breath that she had been holding subconsciously, and then drew in another before pressing on the doorbell. She heard a soft chime reverberating inside. She took a step back and waited, trying to think of something to fill up her blank mind.

A woman answered the door. She was skinny and her hair roots were white, betraying the yellow-blonde of her bob. Light wrinkles etched her face and her blue eyes were glued onto Kate dubiously. "Yes?" She started cautiously.

"Is this the Austen household?" Kate asked, trying to sound as emotionally detached as possible.

"Yes?" she repeated in the same manner, and her questioning tone stuck into Kate's mind, reverberating.

"I'm Kate," She introduced at last. "Kate Austen."

"Sam's niece five times removed?" She questioned, scorn noticeable in her voice. Kate felt a sinking sensation down her stomach.

"Do you have a daughter?" she asked, bracing for the answer. Her heart palpitated as she saw the woman's face turn a beetroot. Her hands were withdrawn to her back and were digging into one another.

"I never conceived successfully," she started, boiling fury charged in her hushed tone. Then, she started screaming, her eyes glazed in hysteria. "I only had dead daughters. All miscarriages!"

Kate jumped slightly from her spot as the door slammed onto her face. She found herself rooted to the ground again as her sentence pounded in her mind. Embarrassment and fear, together with a multitude of emotions, crept into her as her fingernails clawed at her clammy fingers, feeling them tremble against one another.

She found Jack's hand on hers again and finally softened as he pulled her grip apart. He stroked each finger as if nursing the marks inflicted by her nails. The door clicked open and Kate moved back in response. She felt Jack's grip tighten, firm on hers like a brace to stop her bad habit.

"Tell your mother not to meddle with my business," It was a man this time, but his voice was as angry as the woman's.

"Sam?" Kate guessed by instinct, buying time to guess his cryptic sentence. All her life Italian seemed harder than English, and this once tables were turned.

"You don't recognise your father, do you?" His question was snide. "Coming back from Timbuktu to churn something from me?"

There was a long pause as Kate's gaze shifted to the side of the door, her mind trying to piece together two sentences and forgetting how Sawyer said she came from Timbuktu as well.

"She kept the truth from you?" He asked again, Kate finding contented glee in his otherwise sarcastic tone. "Well Diane eloped with some other lover, and you were gone too."

"Diane's my mother," Kate started slowly at last, trying to seek affirmation.

"She abandoned you," He assumed, snickering.

Kate remained silent, feeling warm liquid in her saliva. Immediately her bite on her lip was released, and with her tongue she felt blood from the bite mark. Her fingers trembled, using all her self control to prevent herself from digging into Jack's fingers.

"You came to find family," he continued after a pregnant pause. "Or to tell me you're getting married, and that you've been stalking me all these while."

"The first," She mustered her strength to say, feeling a flush come up her cheeks as Jack's hands withdrew from hers abruptly, as if smarting from injury.

"I assumed—I'm sorry," he started haltingly. "It's just that my wife's not taking this in her stride, and you disappeared with Diane. We never married, and I'm sorry I can't take you in."

Kate nodded. "I understand," she mustered once more, though her voice just more than a whisper this time, and trailed away at the end.

"Try not to find me again," He said emotionlessly and closed the door.

Kate stood frozen, but her hands were balled up. She felt Jack trying to pry it open with difficulty, and in a swift moment she turned around and buried her face onto jack's shoulder, tears streaking from her eyes. Her world turned black as she felt tears staining her face. Thoughts whizzed in the blackness, each one vague.

"I'm sorry," she managed softly, with as much composure between hiccoughs from her tears.

"It's okay," she heard from time to time. She felt Jack's hand on her head and took every chance she could to ball up her fists as tightly as she could, half savouring the pain in her palms.


	19. Chapter 19: last broken pieces

19 last broken pieces

"Jack Shephard!" Kate heard a voice shout as she was about to get into the car. It was charged with fury that bordered hysteria and her heart sank; she didn't think she could stand any more for a day.

"I thought Boone was telling lies," Kate looked as a blonde briskly walked towards Jack. Her eyes were red with tears and the two women exchanged red-eyed glances for a moment.

Jack remained surprisingly silent as the woman's eyes bore hard onto him. Kate looked at Jack for an instant, and realised perhaps it was one of his rare shortcomings. Kate noticed her trembling hand and knew what was to come; she had to say something immediately.

"I'm not dating him," Kate replied with so much composure it surprised her. As she walked around the front of the car towards the woman, she thought about the other side of her—Rosa.

"You're lying," She said acidly. "The hands, the eyes, it's all so obvious."

Kate felt her brows knit to her contained exasperation; it was a bad enough thing that the woman was headstrong, and her furrowing of brows only seemed to make her look nothing but guilt-ridden.

It was Jack who finally found his voice to salvage the situation. "It's over, Shannon," he replied as calmly as possible. "It's the same for Boone, really."

Kate couldn't' quite understand Jack's sentence, but it seemed to work as the woman walked off shakily.

-----

Kate couldn't really recall how she managed to live through the rest of the day without his parents seeming to notice anything amiss about her. After dinner, Jack went to his piano and slowly played a tune which repeated endlessly. It was slow and despondent, but not crushingly pessimistic. She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to whisk off to wherever it brought her—a pristine beach with waves crashing onto the pale ochre sand. The waves were strong but not maniacally fierce, and there was no other sound save the crashing of waves and the distant call of seagulls.

After a while, the music stopped abruptly. Kate's eyes opened in response, looking up at Jack in question. He moved to one side from his seat and asked, "Want to join in?"

"I don't know how to play," Kate replied.

Jack shook his head. "It's simple. I can teach you."

Kate settled down beside him and he started the basic tune, bereft of the complete tranquillity the piece gave. She tried playing it on the spot in front of her, but not only did it come too low, it was weird. She let Jack move her fingers to another spot and she tried slowly, smiling vaguely at how it fell into place like a completed jigsaw puzzle.

"Ready?" he asked. When Kate nodded, she pressed on the keys, feeling her fingers steel up. She missed a key and felt her cheeks heat up as the music stopped.

"Sorry."

"Don't be," he said. "It takes practice."

Slowly, the rigidity left her fingers and she managed to play the melody, with Jack doing the tougher chords.

"Game to try everything?"

"I try," Kate said uncertainly, but Jack already started playing the chords, his fingers sweeping confidently over the ivory and ebony of the keyboard. Kate watched with wide-eyed admiration and shock and he smiled.

"Okay, let's go bit by bit," he said, and played the first line of the tune. Kate tried to position her keys correctly, realising the blacks interspersed with the whites in a pattern. Jack smiled when she repeated without an error. "Good try."

Soon enough, Kate swept over the tune with Jack observing by the side. Although she didn't repeat like Jack, she heaved a sigh of relief at her getting every key correct. It was like a confusing task with mistakes lurking at every corner, ready to pounce at every possible moment. She looked at Jack, who smiled. "Good try."

Kate smiled back.

-----

When the moon was set high in the dark cobalt of the night, a dull pang hit her when she looked at her passport—her flight was due the next day, and had yet to tell Jack, let alone properly thank his parents for what they've been putting up with.

Putting it on her bed, she pulled out her battered and yellow copy of _Tom Sawyer_. She decided to start from page one this time, and read the book. It was on the fifth page that someone knocked on her door. She decided that it was Jack; he was the only one who would ever step into her room, and even if they did she didn't think they'd knock.

She was correct; she looked up and met Jack's gaze for a moment. His forehead was raised in a silent greeting and Kate braced a smile in return, knowing it looked more like a grimace. The harrowing events finally fell back into reality from the short respite provided by the music. She silently thanked Jack for the lack of conversation; it spared her from being pressed into thinking of a follow-up to a rhetorical question.

This time, the little events that Jack had were overshadowed by the reigning tension were also brought back to mind and Kate tried her best not to blush; after all Jack had been patiently tolerating with whatever shortcomings she had been through.

"What're you reading?" He asked at last as he brought a chair and sat down beside her. She flipped to the book cover and he nodded.

"That was how Sawyer came about, huh?" he asked again, and Kate nodded. She was glad for the lapse of silence which followed; she felt her voice leave her and would potentially betray should she use it. She looked at her passport lying on her bed and steeled her nerves.

She opened to the pages she turned to most often and pulled out the forgot-me-not. "Remember this?" She asked as she twirled it with her fingers.

Jack took it and nodded. "Yeah," he answered. "That far corner of the park?"

"Jack?" She started slowly after a long pause. She sensed his gaze on her and shook off the thought. "My plane takes off tomorrow."

"You've got nothing to go back for," he started.

"I've got nothing here as well," She replied.

"You can start something new here," he started. "I can get you a longer visa and a job."

"I work as a waitress back in Venice," she started flatly, trying to raise some anger from her mix of emotions. "The only teacher I had was Sawyer."

"You can continue being a waitress," he insisted like a little child.

"Why are you so insistent?" Kate suddenly asked, forcing her eyes to face Jack. This time, it was he who broke away as he shrugged.

Jack placed the dried flower onto the book on her lap as he stood up, and slowly walked to the door.

"Wait," Kate found words torn from her lips. She looked at the floor and Jack's legs as they turned around. Her heart sank; she had to tell the truth now that he was waiting. "Sawyer got that flight as well. He doesn't want attention on him, so unless you can get me an extension without jeopardising him-"

"Sure," Jack replied and closed the door behind him. Kate couldn't be sure if there was a smile on his face.

Kate closed her book and threw it and her passport into her open luggage as she fell heavily onto the bed. She stared at the whitewashed ceiling, flushed yellow with the light. Venice or Los Angeles, both lay with battered memories, and Kate decided to say goodbye to that containing with more of her recollections, the place she grew up being Rosa.

Even though she came to the irony that she was rueing staying in a place she dreamed of residing in, she couldn't bring a smile onto her face as she shut her luggage, switched off the lights and buried her face into the pillow, letting herself get defeated by her own emotions and fatigue, which had been rioting on her.


	20. Chapter 20: picking up pieces

20 picking up pieces

"I guess since you showed me the flower," Jack started in the car. "I'll show you something too."

Rosa nodded as she looked at the streets; it was morning and though Jack got an extension she decided to send Sawyer off. She decided to shove away thoughts of another cold confrontation with Sawyer and tried to guess what Jack was going to show her instead.

"Here we are," he said as he pulled the car into a car park. She felt a tinge of warmth at his usual tone—warm but careful, comforting but aware of the events of recent. It was a good and difficult juggle between confrontation, consolation and denial, and Jack was master of it. Kate looked out to see little kids walking past the car into a fenced compound with brown bricks. "Do you remember?"

"I studied here," she said slowly.

"Sawyer wasn't your only teacher," he replied with a nod. His voice a little heavier, he replied, "Shannon, too."

"The girl yesterday?"

Jack nodded. "She grew up being quite like you."

"What was I like?" Rosa suddenly asked. "I mean, as a kid."

"Pretty much like now," Jack answered after a moment's of contemplation. Taking her hand, he continued, "Very much brave." Kate let her hands lay in his as they watched little children stream into the compound, some in clumps, others with parents in tow, but all wearing bright and hopeful eyes.

Kate smiled wryly; either way she didn't think she'd ever be like them and thanked that most, if not all, of it should be over. They watched in the car until the school gates closed and a fine white speck tainted the windscreen of Jack's Chevrolet.

"The first snow," Kate said, with a faint but sure smile on her face.

-----

"Your luggage?" Sawyer started when she found him.

Kate let out a deep breath. "I decided to stay."

She braced for it, and true enough, it happened. She looked as Sawyer's jaw dropped slightly and his eyebrows crinkled and sloped down towards his nose. "You're not going to betray me," he replied, a snarl in his voice.

"Jack made an extension without hassling you," Rosa replied flatly. "I'm going to find work and start anew."

"Found your happy family then?" Sawyer challenged.

Kate fought down the hard lump down her throat. "I was destined not to have a proper family."

"Since when have you changed?"

"I had never," Kate said. "I was pretending my way through my childhood."

Sawyer snorted and turned around. "Wait," Kate called out. "I'm Kate."

"Kate or Rosa," he started. "I don't care much now."

"One last thing," Kate said. She didn't know why, but since Sawyer knew half of everything she didn't see why he should leave not knowing all. "I was kidnapped into a life of pretending. By Mr Ford."

Kate couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw Sawyer's eyes widen as he turned around. She pursed her lips, hoping that after all these years she could affect Sawyer by just a wee bit. Watching him leave with his usual swagger, Kate sighed. It seemed to her that she was never destined to achieve great things in life.

-----

"It's a nice frosty day," Jack started when the door clicked open. "And yet you're cooped up here."

Rosa grunted, half-jumping from the sudden intrusion. She stood up and turned around, seeming almost evasive. Looking out at the window, she spoke whatever entered her mind first. "It's not day now," she said hastily, gesturing at the window.

"It's still nice to get outside," Jack argued, and Kate started to see Jack's determination to gruel through being a doctor with a hectic schedule. Kate shook her head in both his stubbornness and declination to Jack's offer.

"What're you doing?" he asked, inching towards her table. He picked up the paper from her table and attempted reading, "Bon-geo-no Claire."

He put the paper down and continued, eyes twinkling and a wide smile on his face, "You went to outer space all these time and refused to tell me." Rosa pulled at his cheek, smiling.

"_Ti amo,"_ He said with earnest at last, holding Kate's gaze. "Kate."

"Where did you learn that from?" She asked softly. For once, Italian have never felt so warm.

Jack gave a lopsided smile as Rosa hugged him.


	21. epilogue

epilogue

The doorbell rang and Jack called out, "Coming!"

"Hey," Jack said when Shannon and Kate were at the door, ushering them in. "How's work?" he asked as they settled down onto the living room.

"Kate's going to hold a higher position than me soon," Shannon replied with mock jealousy. She broke into a grin and nudged Kate.

"My stomach's rumbling," Jack started, trying his best to whine. "And I know someone here makes really nice lentils."

Kate pursed her lips, trying not to smile. "They were for pauper gypsies in Italy, and still are."

"I don't care," Jack said adamantly. "It tastes good." Suddenly, the ringing of the phone interrupted their banter as Jack stood up for the phone.

"Hello?" Jack's voice answered.

"Is Kate around?" A female voice replied.

"Sure. Hold on."

Jack walked to the living room and saw Kate chatting with Shannon. "Sorry to break the banter," Jack said. In crude Italian, he continued, "Answer the phone."

Kate looked at him with a smile before she got up and left the room.

"Thanks for your Italian," Jack started once she left the room. "And Kate's job."

"Thanks for finding me a friend," Shannon replied shrugging.

Jack pursed his lips and looked at the coffee table in front of him.

"So when's Shephard junior coming?" Shannon started.

"As soon as I see a Boone Junior. Or Shannon Junior," Jack replied, and they both laughed.

-----

From the corner, Kate smiled. Shaking her head, she raced to the phone.

"Bongiorno," the line started. Kate could hear chattering in the background which she couldn't quite recognise.

"Claire?" Kate hazarded a guess.

"Has my voice changed so much?" Claire questioned with mock hurt. On both ends of the line, they smiled.

"Not really," Kate started. "I think Charlie's did."

"That's Aaron in the background," Claire said. "He's just learnt how to speak, and it's driving Sawyer mad."

Kate swallowed and paused for a moment. Thinking that Claire would start apologising should she not plug the silence, she started, "Merry Christmas."

"Same to you," Claire said. "We got our snow today. Free of floods. Aaron was euphoric."

There was a short lapse of silence. Although Claire wrote back to Rosa's first letter and they never lost contact, it sounded awkward hearing each other's voice.

"Oh," Claire said at last. "Someone wants to speak to you."

Kate swallowed another lump as she heard Aaron babbling in the crude Italian she started off with in the silence.

"Hey Freckles," a voice said.

"Sawyer?" Kate asked with much less certainty. She heard a huge breath being exhaled from the other line.

"I know my voice changed more than Claire's did," he replied, "But hey."

Before Kate could utter any apology, he continued, "When're you getting a little Huckleberry? Don't worry I didn't steal Claire's letters; she told me."

Kate stifled the half exasperation. "Soon," she replied. "I'll keep Claire and you posted."

"I changed my name recently." Sawyer started seriously after a moment's of pause.

"So now you're neither Sawyer nor James."

"No," he replied. Pausing, he drew in a breath and continued. "From James Ford to Sawyer Pace. I'm sorry Kate."

There was a pregnant pause as Kate's mind whirred. "It's not your fault," she said truthfully at last. "I mean it wasn't you."

"But it was my dad." He said shiftily, clearly put in unease. "I was a Ford."

"Note the 'was' in your sentence," Rosa replied, picking his Italian. "And take your punishment as the period of animosity all these while."

There was another pause. "Well then," Sawyer said conclusively. "Just to say thanks."

"What for?"

"Do you read the papers?" he questioned, letting mock agitation reign in his voice. "Got my legitimate company up. Had to change my name."

"Ah, Pace Consortium," Rosa replied. "Congrats."

"Thanks," Sawyer repeated. "And Merry Christmas."

"You too," Kate said with a smile, a proud one, that she managed to change Sawyer after all.

"Are you coming to Venice anytime soon?" Sawyer asked.

"I'm not sure," Kate admitted. "Jack's busy and I'd like to bring him along."

"Make it snappy, or I'd buy a private jet and send Charlie to pick you up."

"He made it to a pilot after all?" Kate asked, thrilled.

"Dad got assassinated," Sawyer said quietly. "Or else Charlie I wouldn't be able to pay for Charlie's lessons."

"Sorry," Kate said softly, biting her lips with remorse.

"Don't be," Sawyer said strongly.

"Send my regards to my mother, will you?" Kate asked uncertainly after a short moment's of pause to dissipate the tension.

"Claire's been visiting her often," Sawyer said. "She told you?"

"Yeah," Kate replied.

"Hold on," Sawyer replied, and Kate found herself listening to Aaron's babbling again.

"Kate?" She asked with a thick Italian accent. Though it sounded more like 'Cake', Kate smiled as tears came to her eyes.

"Mother," she replied.

"_Ti amo."_

Kate nodded and repeated.

"Thanks for all the money," her mother continued in Italian.

"No worries," Kate replied with a bittersweet smile.

"Merry Christmas," Kate's mother started in English with some difficulty with the accent.

"You too," Kate replied shortly, fearing another syllable would break her voice. _"Ti amo," _she finally continued, her voice breaking and a tear falling down her cheek as they bade goodbye and hung up.

"What was taking so long?" Jack asked as she slid onto the sofa beside him.

"I'll need to drag you to Venice soon," she said with a smile, feeling her cheeks cool with the drying tears. "It's an imperative. And Shannon, we should go to that alley and say hi or something."

Shannon smiled and nodded. "It's Jack that needs to swear to a promise."

He looked at the two pairs of eyes nailed on him and nodded his head in defeat. Rosa smiled, half-smirking, as they enjoyed the silence. She felt Jack's hand on her as he separated hers from biting into each other.

"You have vicious fingers,' he said with a smile as he squeezed her hands.


End file.
